Thicker Than Water
by SunbakedGeoduck
Summary: Turns out the Winchesters aren't the only supernatural-fighting team in town. Twin sisters Jamie and Catherine are hunters with a slight twist. A twist that makes them all the more deadly. And all the more appealing - to good guys and bad guys alike.
1. Chapter 1

Copyright and everything: I don't own any of the characters mentioned in the TV series, _Supernatural_. I just like playing with them.

I do, however, claim the right over everybody else I should make up. :)

Enjoy, beetches!

_1987._

"Fix them."

Anna May leaned forward, her pale foot savagely grinding the remains of a cigarette into the pale green grass beneath her. Her hands gripped the flimsy plastic armrests on either side of her gaunt body, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the cheap white plastic that her knuckles protruded alarmingly against her cold white flesh. Her thin colourless lips were set into a nearly invisible straight line. Her eyes were the only thing that gave her a spark of life: almost unnaturally blue eyes, so vibrant and so piercing that they were almost sapphire in colour.

Eyes that pinned Missouri Moseley to the foldaway chair beneath her, eyes that shone with an intelligence that Missouri had foolishly assumed was simply not there. She sat back in her seat, silently reassessing her initial impression of Anna May. The woman's appearance was almost intentionally deceiving – from the straggly waves of unkempt golden blonde hair, to the minimal clothing so very inappropriate for this type of breezy cold, all the way down to the alarmingly hot pink flip flops decorating her small feet, Missouri had assumed this woman was nothing more than, to put it bluntly, trailer trash. An unfortunate victim of poor upbringing and even poorer prospects, doomed to spend her life living in a run-down apartment with several offspring, likewise destined to spend their entire lives confined to the poorest region of the city.

But this woman's intensity had frightened Missouri. She was young, young enough that when middle-aged housewives apprehensively knocked on her door, hoping to hear that their husband wasn't enjoying the company of his secretary a little too much, she could see the disdain in their eyes. Could see them thinking that she was only a child playing with cards, trying to swindle a few dollars out of the desperate and the gullible. But it was their desperation that drove them and, despite their reservations, they listened to her. And, if Missouri told them something they were not willing to hear, they shrugged it off. How could a child tell them something that she knew nothing about? She was wrong, and they were comforted by her youth.

Missouri was getting used to the game now, starting to realise that these people never came for the truth, even though this is what they claimed to want. She had tried honesty and honesty had upset more people than it had comforted. She had accepted that some people wanted reassurance, wanted lies, and were happy to pay for them. And she wasn't going to turn their money away.

Only in cases like these did she know to tell the truth. It was a voice in the back of her mind, whispering to her when a stranger called, letting her know what they were there for. She knew who had an important agenda and who did not. And this woman, Anna May, was important. Her question was important.

Missouri just wished that she didn't have to be the one to answer it. Children's lives depended on her answer.

Missouri let her gaze slide over to the two girls, playing happily on the lawn in front of them, smiling sadly as one of the girls let out a shriek of harmless terror, scrambling away as her sister reached for a little red ladybug, grinning a nearly toothless grin as the tiny red insect scuttled across golden brown skin.

When she glanced back at their mother, her gentle smile faded. Anna May had not even looked away from Missouri's face, not even as her daughter had let out a squeal of gleeful fright. Her face looked pained, but not in the way that a parent should be anxious upon hearing her daughter's surprised shout, even if their anxiety was unnecessary. Anna May's face looked as if the very sound of her daughter's voice frightened her.

Missouri frowned and reached for her client's hands. Anna May didn't flinch as Missouri stretched towards her, when Missouri put her soft warm hands on top of Anna's long thin ones. It is Missouri who almost flinched away; Anna's hands were colder than ice, so cold that Missouri expected to see a hiss of steam rise from her flesh where Missouri touched her. But Anna did not react, not even a little. Had it not been for her eyes, Anna May would have seemed little more than a corpse.

"Anna," Missouri said softly, her soulful voice purposefully kept low. This was not a conversation daughters should hear their mother discussing with anybody, let alone a complete stranger. Anna didn't even blink at the sound of her name, at the concern in Missouri's voice. "Anna, your children don't need to be _fixed_. They are two beautiful, healthy little girls, two girls you should be so proud of," Missouri paused for a brief moment, feeling her own throat close up a little. _Those poor girls_. "What ever made you think they need to be fixed?"

Anna's face twisted, distress written all over her features, in her body language. She prised her hands off of the armrest, wringing them together with increasing anxiety. Her head twitched towards her children, but her eyes are wrenched back. Like she was too scared to even look at them. "They're demon spawn," she hissed, her voice breaking slightly. "They're demon children and they're gunna turn out just like their father did, they're gunna turn into demons, I _know it_," she spat, only now looking over to her children, to look at them with wide alarmed eyes. She was afraid they would hear her, not for hurting them, but for them turning on her.

Missouri tightened her grip on Anna's hands. "What do you mean, they're going to turn out like their father did?" she asked slowly, keeping her honest dark brown eyes on Anna unflinchingly. Anna stared down at their hands, clasped so tightly together; their so contrastingly different skin tones highlighted the colour even more so, Anna's hands a ghostly pale white, Missouri's hands a rich dark brown.

Anna began rocking backwards and forwards, blue eyes growing ever wider. "He was a demon," she said and immediately had to stifle a sob, biting down hard on her bottom lip. "He wasn't always a demon," she added on quickly, almost before she'd finished her previous sentence. And, despite herself, she smiled. "He was the nicest guy I've ever known… we met in high school… both of us dropped out soon after," she laughed, a laugh without bitterness. It was a pleasant sound, rich and intoxicating. Missouri could see how beautiful this woman could have been. Could still be. "We married when we were 16," Anna continued, swallowing hard. "Been married for ten years… was the happiest ten years of my life," she said quickly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "Happiest six years of my life," she amended, her brilliant blue eyes darkening. "One night, about five years ago, he comes home. And he's different. Like, he's changed. I mean, when he smiled, you could just see how good he was. It shone through him, y'know? It was just natural for him; he didn't know how to be bad to anybody. So when he comes home, and I ask him where he's been… and he gives me this smile," Anna's voice cracked completely, tears glistening in her eyes. "This smile that is just pure… _evil,_ I know something's wrong. That it's not him, that he's not himself. And then, when I asked him what was wrong, he… he just came towards me and… and he hit me and he… he…"

Missouri squeezed her hand. Neither of them needed to hear how this sentence ended.

Anna wiped her eyes, keeping her face turned away from her daughters. "When he's… _finished_ with me, he gets up to leave. And then he turns back and his… _eyes_… they're black. Completely black, all the way back to the soul…" Anna shook her head, her thin shoulders beginning to shake uncontrollably. "And he says '_See you later, honey_' in this ridiculously happy voice and then he leaves. And I don't ever see him again. Not now, not when his children came…" Her eyes darkened at the mention of her children, a reaction a mother should not have had. Her head lifted up and she met Missouri's gaze evenly, emotionlessly. "They're demons, just like he was, and I need you to help me cure them."

Missouri's blood had run cold, her hands frozen on top of Anna's. She forced herself to swallow. "You can't be sure they'll turn out like him…" she tried to reassure Anna. "It isn't possible, honey," she added on. Because it wasn't. A demon could not impregnate a human woman and produce demonic children, it wasn't possible. It wasn't heard of.

"I've seen them!" Anna said in a voice louder than it was meant to be. Her head jerked to the side, watching her daughters again. Both girls seemed unfazed, oblivious to their mother's outburst; they were too busy inspecting the ladybug still, staring intensely at the arm of the darker of the two. Anna continued in a lower tone, hurried and urgent now. "Catherine killed something," she whispered. "A plant. Just touched it with her finger and it… it just died," she said, her voice hollow, like she couldn't quite believe it herself. "It drooped all over the sides and started wilting and Catherine started to cry… and then Jamie picks it up… and it comes alive again." Missouri stared at her, too stunned to chime in, but Anna did not notice, carrying on with her story in a frenzied daze. "She just touches it and all the colour comes back and it picks itself up and it's _alive_. It's _alive_!" she hissed, her eyes refocusing on Missouri's now. "They aren't human. They're demons. And I _need – you – to fix them_."

Missouri stared for a moment longer, her thoughts whirring, colliding with each other. _She's delusional, _Missouri thought desperately. But even as she thought this, the voice in her head hissed angrily, angry with her for trying to deny what was obvious in front of her. This woman was speaking the truth. She knew this instinctively, but did not want to believe it. Her story was too farfetched, too mad. Not possible.

The voice whispered something else in the back of her head, a message that was of clear importance, but was indecipherable, unheard behind all of the chaos. She tried to listen, strained to listen, but the voice was gone, the message with it.

She had to give this advice herself. "Anna," she started, noticing the strain in her own tone. She cleared her throat, trying to sound more relaxed, more knowledgeable. More like a proper adult, rather than the increasingly childlike girl she felt like now. "Anna… if what you're saying to me is true… if you're absolutely sure this is true," Anna nods enthusiastically, violently. It is apparent that she is not lying. Missouri could feel the truth behind her words, the heavy implications of this truth apparent. "If these girls have truly been touched with these gifts… they are going to need you to help them, they're going to need their mama. There are dark forces in this world, honey, dark forces that are going to want to use your girls for evil, and you have to protect them. As their mother. Things are going to be difficult, things are going to get very hard, Anna, I won't lie to you. But, they need their mother, Anna; they won't be able to do this without you."

Anna's face had paled, bleached of colour, now a startling bone white. _She can't do this_, Missouri thought in a panic. _She can't do this; she won't be able to deal with it_.

Missouri opened her mouth to say further, but Anna spoke first. There is no emotion to her voice at all. Even her eyes have lost their spark. "Could I please have a glass of water?"

"Of course, honey," Missouri said with a smile. She stood up reluctantly, not wanting to leave Anna May alone with her thoughts, should her thoughts take her on a path that she shouldn't be going down. She wanted to leave the girls alone with their mother even less than she wanted Anna May to be alone, but she could not deny the traumatised woman something soothing, something that would bring her back to normality.

Walking as quickly as possible, Missouri pushed open her front door and disappeared inside.

Anna May turned her head slowly towards her children.

Missouri ran into her kitchen, pushing aside the washing piled up in her sink, fumbling for a clean glass to give to her client. Prising out the cleanest looking glass, she shoved it under the tap, her feet bouncing off of the hardwood floor, suppressing the urge to sprint back to Anna May and make sure she didn't do anything stupid, like the feeling in her gut said this woman was going to. Water trickled into the tap, painfully slow, mocking her urgency.

As soon as the glass was half full, Missouri snatched it from under the tap and ran outside, slamming open the back door and running around to the front of her house, leaping over the gate in a move she hadn't thought capable since high school, a movement she was momentarily, secretly impressed with.

And then she turned the corner, leading to the front garden.

And Anna May was gone.

Missouri dropped the glass, bursting into a sprint as she ran to the other side of the house, checking to see if Anna had gone to use the bathroom, to see if she had gone to lie down. She double-checked the house, triple-checked it, checked every room.

Nothing.

She ran out onto the front lawn again, ignoring the bewildered looks on the faces of her neighbours, of the people passing by, of the people in the cars crawling past her house.

No Anna May. No skinny blonde girl slouching away, shoulders shaking for shame and guilt.

No nothing.

Missouri's heart sank and she almost dropped to her knees.

She felt angry. Angrier than she had felt in a long time. That bitch. That _bitch_.

She ran her hands through her wiry black hair. _Was she coming back?_ No, of course she wasn't coming back. Anna May had abandoned her children. She had no intention of returning for them, that much was clear. Missouri could have kicked herself. She'd rattled on, she'd preached about how important their mother was going to be to them, how dangerous this was going to be. She should've known Anna would not have been ready to hear it. She should've known Anna would do this, that she wouldn't have the heart to do the difficult thing. She'd wanted her children cured by a psychic, a quick and easy solution. Doing the hard, but right thing wouldn't have been an option.

Missouri felt a bitter disappointment towards the woman. And she had surprised her with her intelligence, with her eyes. She had let herself hope.

That never helped anybody.

"Excuse me."

Missouri glanced down, feeling her heart break ever so slightly as she looked into the face of a child, one of the daughters. Missouri had not been merely flattering Anna May when she had said her daughters were beautiful, it was a simple statement, a fact: both of them were angelic in appearance. The taller of the two was the one who had spoken, with flawless golden brown skin, hair as rich as dark mahogany and full lips the colour of rose petals. The other, the shyer girl hiding slightly behind her twin, was pale, as pale as her mother, but with jet black hair, a Snow White vision if ever there was one. And their eyes; these definitely belonged to their mother in brightness, yet not in colour. The shy daughter had eyes similar to her mother, round eyes just as pale blue and just as striking, while the other had eyes the colour of emeralds, huge and glistening, almost like cat's eyes in the way that they were so instantly stunning.

The girl with the green eyes spoke again, her voice high-pitched and so polite, so polite for a child. "Excuse me, ma'am, but did you know where our mama went? We're ready to go home now."

_Spirits, give me strength_. _Give them strength._

Missouri smiled a warm and kindly smile. The girls would not have noticed the tears. She gestured towards her house, still keeping the smile on her face. "I'm sure she'll be along in a minute," Missouri Moseley lied, trying to keep the smile on her face and the tears firmly in her eyes. "But, while we wait, how about you girls help me make her a cake for when she comes back?"

The smiles that lit up their little faces then nearly pushed her over the edge. It was only after she ushered them inside, only after she could heard the faint scampering of their scuffed shoes as they ran towards the kitchen, did Missouri Moseley allow herself to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

_2005_.

It was not often that the vampire, widely known as A.J. (formerly Mr. Adam Jeffries, of Wakefield, Oklahoma) was forced to run anywhere, forced to run so quickly that he could almost feel his dead heart beating again, an imaginary beat pounding against his ribcage. The kind of run that would have burnt his lungs, should he still need to breathe; the kind of run that numbed his legs until they barely felt like they belonged to him, running of their own accord now, carrying him along so smoothly he could have been floating on air. He had had no reason to run so desperately in a long time. Now that he was a vampire, a smooth and silent killer of the night, he had to do little more than stroll towards a victim, flitting quickly in and out of the darkness that wrapped around him like a soft blanket. He did not have to push himself further than stepping a little quicker than a jog; dancing towards whatever unfortunate soul happened to wander into his path, reaching out to them with a lazy gesture of his hand, holding their writhing bodies still with a flex of his fingers, pressing his icy lips to quivering throats and sinking his jagged fangs into flesh as easily as a knife slices through butter.

Yet this was the situation he found himself in now, tearing along the darkened alleyways of Oklahoma City, streets that he now knew even better as a vampire than he had as a human. So many twists and turns, and nooks and crannies that had been invisible to his bleary human gaze, now were almost illuminated in the darkness, his heightened vampire senses catching even the smallest fleck of dust in the brickwork of each building he slammed into it, pushing himself off of the tight walls and propelling himself forwards, faster, ever faster.

Blood was quickly drying on his plain black shirt, glistening a wet scarlet red under the weak lamplights he shot under. For the first time in a long time, this blood was his own.

A.J. could hear his pursuer behind him, slamming into the same walls as he did, pushing themselves off of the wall with the same inhuman strength that he possessed. _Pursuer_. Anger broiled in his stomach and, not for the first time, the animal urge to swivel around on his heel, to plant his feet firmly in the ground and catch his pursuer by surprise, to slam them up against the wall and tear into their naked flesh mercilessly, was almost overwhelming. He did not take kindly to being the pursued; he did not appreciate this sudden role of reversals. It felt totally and completely wrong, against his very nature.

Still, if he obeyed his animal nature, he would surely die. It was with the utmost reluctance that he ran, fled, bolted away from his pursuer. He had their scent now, and he would find them once he escaped their surprise attack. He would find them and he would make them regret chasing him down like a common _animal_.

But the very same scent that enticed him also terrified him. As he lurched into a deserted street, heading towards the sickly sweet scent of the sea, the City Marina hazily forming in the distance, he could hear the frantic thumping of footfalls behind him, could hear barely troubled breathing at his back. A regular human hunter should not have been this fast, they should not still be breathing so easily after so long and so arduous a chase. This was something else. Something as vicious as he was.

A figure stumbled out a little way ahead of him, tumbling into view as if from nowhere. A woman. A tall woman, teetering about on heels that exaggerated her already impressive height. Drunk. Alone. Completely oblivious to the manic vampire tearing towards her.

A.J. allowed himself a smile, forcing himself forwards, his feet surging faster than he thought possible, even for a vampire. A hunter would not risk the life of an innocent. A creature would not allow a kill to be taken from them.

Either way, A.J. knew an opportunity when he saw one.

The woman's head snapped up as he approached, her fantastically blue eyes widening in helpless alarm, her smudged red pout dropping open into a small black 'O' of horror. She turned quickly on her heel, almost breaking her ankle from the sharp movement. As she tumbled to the floor, white palms outstretched to steel the fall, A.J. swooped for her, wrapping one strong arm around her waist and one around her throat, clutching her to him with a desperate possessiveness. She would save his life. She would die saving his life.

A.J. turned to face his pursuer, gasping out breaths that he did not need but felt good all the same. His attacker skidded to a halt, sneakers kicking dirt and gravel towards him as they pull themselves to an abrupt stop.

A.J. could hear them breathing, hard now. Could hear _her _breathing. _A woman,_ A.J. thought, rage and disgust building up inside of him until they block his throat. He felt like screaming, both at this woman and himself. _A woman_. _Fucking hell_.

It was silent for a moment, save for the sounds of all three heavily breathing. The hostage separating the pair of them started to whimper, tears dropping uselessly onto A.J.'s hand. He felt the overwhelming urge to wipe them off of his skin. Humans disgusted him.

He did not move, though. He kept his eyes fixed on the woman in front of him, watching her figure, still shrouded in darkness, shrink and expand with each deep breath she took.

And then she laughed.

"Jesus Christ," she gasped, in between low chuckles and sucking in hungry breaths of air. Her green eyes shone mischievously over at him. "Give me a sec. I need my breath back before I can come up something witty to say. Don't want it to come out all breathy and weird."

A.J. stared over at her, his grip on the weeping woman slacking for a moment. She was definitely not a professional hunter. Professional hunters did not waste time coming with witty one-liners when there was a life at stake.

"I will-" he started to say, trying to shake off his confusion, but she stopped him again, holding up a finger as she bent over at the waste. Long dark hair fell into the dim light, shining a faint shade of red.

"Hold on. Few more seconds, I swear. Oh, fuck me, I think I've pulled a muscle."

She straightened again, exhaling a deep sigh of relief, breathing easily once more. "Okay," she gasped, swallowing in another lungful. She flexed her fingers at him, in a 'come at me' gesture. "Go for it."

"I-I will kill her," A.J. stammered uncertainly. He scowled as he realised how this sentence, meant as a proclamation, sounded more like a child's question.

The woman shook her head, actually managing to look disappointed. "No, no, that was shit, try again."

A.J. glowered and hissed, "_I will kill her right here and now, bitch_."

The woman grinned. Not remotely fazed in the slightest. "Now that's more like it," she said, with an almost proud inflection in her voice. And then she sighed. "But I'm afraid we kinda had the opposite way round planned. We apologise for any inconvenience."

A.J. frowned. "We-?" he managed to ask before he realised.

The woman in his arms had stopped weeping.

_Oh, fuck_.

A.J. began to release her from his grasp, unwinding his arms faster than the blink of an eye. But this woman was quicker. And she needed to do a lot less than snap his neck or shove a stake coated in the poison of dead man's blood through his useless heart.

All she had to do was press the tip of her finger to his exposed flesh.

Jamie did not bother watching as the vampire folded to the floor, crumpling as suddenly as if all of his bones had suddenly liquefied beneath his skin. She'd seen it happen thousands of times before. It had ceased to be amazing and horrifying, compelling and repulsive: it had even stopped being interesting, for the most part. For Jamie, it simply signalled the end of a job. Well, nearly the end. One last job to go.

She looked over at her sister, who had calmly unengaged herself from the vampire's grasp and had stepped to the side, wiping a hand underneath her huge sapphire eyes, scowling as she saw the trickles of mascara weeping down her cheeks. Their gazes met for a brief moment and Catherine nodded, an acknowledgement that she was unharmed. They never actually asked each other out loud anymore. The thought was simply quite hilarious to both of them, much to their mother's disapproval.

"Okay," Jamie nodded again, reaching around with both hands and unclasping the newly sharpened machete from the harness on her back. She swung it out in front of her, admiring the gleam of silver as it swam under the lamplight and the sing of metal slicing through the air. Without a second's thought, she tossed it to Catherine, watching the blade spin, in a perfect, graceful horizontal curve, over to her sister. And then she watched her remarkably uncoordinated sister squeal like a frightened child and slap it away from herself, the machete clattering noisily along the pavement.

Catherine glowered as Jamie started snickering quietly to herself. "Okay what?"

Jamie sighed patronisingly. Despite the fact that she was the younger of the twins, if only by a few moments, Jamie often assumed the role of older sibling. Mainly because she knew it irritated the hell out of Catherine to see her 'younger' sister acting so knowing. "Your turn to cut his head off."

Catherine's face blanched, as Jamie knew it would. "I'm not cutting his head off, you do it."

"I did it last time. And the time before that. And probably every single time we've had to cut someone's head off. Gotta strap on your big-boy pants at some point, sis."

Catherine scowled, a bloom of apple red appearing in her white cheeks. "Hey, I pretty much kill them every time I touch them; all you have to do is cut their heads off. All the work's already done for you," she smirked. Catherine knew how defensive Jamie got about Catherine's gift; Catherine often bragged that it was she who was actually putting in the most effort, even though 99% of the time this was untrue.

Predictably, Jamie rose to the bait. Her captivating green eyes flashed, sparkling with a good-natured anger. This was a playful argument they had on most jobs. "Did I see you running through Okla-fucking-homa, chasing after this fuck? No, I did not."

"That's because I'm too good to be seen," Catherine teased. She had been running alongside them, ghosting her sister on her pursuit, making sure that she appeared at precisely the right time. "And I did it in heels, too," she added, twisting her ankle around to get a good look at her scuffed black heels. Not a favourite pair, at least. Bait-footwear.

"Big fucking deal." Jamie had a knack for injecting a curse word into every sentence she could. Even if this resorted in Mama-Missouri slapping the back of her head. "Do you know how hard it is running down all those fucking alleyways? I swear to God, I think I've pulled a muscle in my leg."

"I know. I heard you complaining about it."

"See, I'm fucking injured, so you get with the beheading so we can go home?"

"You're not injured, you're whining. Just heal yourself already, _so we can go home_."

Jamie smirked over at her sister, triumphantly. "Not all of us need to use our gifts all the time," she sang in a mischievous sing-song tone, cackling delightedly as her sister tried to swing for her.

Catherine sighed. They always got off track with the banter. "Be that as it may, or _may not be_," she emphasised, rolling her eyes at her sister. "We still need to behead the fucker."

"So you do it."

"Why don't you do it?"

"Because I _always _do it. And because I have a battle injury."

"You're such a fucking pussy."

"Thus, you should do it."

"I'm not doing it. I'll get blood all over my heels."

"I'm gunna say it; they're pretty fucked to all hell anyway."

"They're my good bait shoes; they don't have to be nice."

"And these are my good running shoes. Mine are more important. For running."

Catherine suddenly grinned at her sister. She always knew how to win these things. "You behead him, and I'll take you through a drive-through on our way back?"

Jamie paused, green eyes glistening. "Go on."

Catherine sighed. "And I'll pay for you, _again_."

Jamie beamed. "Then I'll behead the guy. _Again_," she added, drawling the last word in her soft Kansas drawl.

She walked over to the vampire, still paralysed on the floor. His eyes were wide, listening in abject horror to their bickering. Jamie picked up the machete, tossing it twice in her hands before looking down at the vampire. There was a slight trace of pity in her eyes. This was not something she enjoyed.

"Adam Jeffries," she began. Her voice was soft. Final. "You murdered four young women without mercy and without apology. And, for that, you cannot be allowed to continue to live."

His eyes widened. He knew what was coming next.

"I'm sorry," Jamie said, blurting it out almost without meaning to.

The blade swung down.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hope you enjoy your meal," the blushing boy at the fast-food window stammered, tripping over his words as he passed the brown paper bag through the window to Catherine. She accepted the bag without fully meeting his eyes, passing the bag to a nearly salivating Jamie in the passenger seat beside her, rolling her icy blue eyes as her sister snatched the bag from her fingertips and dived straight in, moaning in relief as she began wolfing down as many salty fries as she could manage. Catherine turned back to the boy in the window, internally grimacing as she noticed his slack-jawed expression. He'd obviously heard Jamie's moaning beside her.

Catherine could feel the hot red blush spreading across her cheeks under the boy's stunned stare; she threw him a polite smile, letting it slide from her face as she hastily pulls away from the window, heading immediately for the exit. She pretended not to notice the boy still staring after them in her side view mirror.

"You're disgusting," she told Jamie casually, shaking her head lightly and trying not to let her sister see her smile. It was one of the things she loved the most about her sister; how she was completely oblivious to being embarrassed, how she barely noticed when she did something that regular people usually refrained from in public. However, it was a trait that Catherine also disliked and envied. When Jamie didn't react to people's shock, they turned their shock and disapproval to Catherine. Almost like they demanded a reason why she let her sister carry on like that in public. And Catherine, being much more easily unnerved than Jamie, hated being put under such scrutiny.

Jamie turned her head to the side, her dark locks lolled against the head of the passenger's seat, and gave Catherine a wide smile, showing all of her teeth and the bits of food still floating around in her mouth.

Catherine suppressed a smirk and elbowed her sister in the side. "Shut up and be disgusting, I'm driving."

Jamie held up her hand, frantically chewing for a few moments before swallowing. Her features were poised now, calm. "Dya want me to call Mama?"

Catherine nodded. "Yeah, go for it. She'll want to know you've ruined her healthy food regime anyway," she added with a grin. Mama-Missouri, tired of seeing Catherine's car floor afloat with a sea of fast-food bags and containers, had demanded they try to eat healthier. Jamie's response – "Mama, I hardly think my cholesterol is what's going to kill me" – had been met with a slap to the back of the head, and the repeated demand that they eat healthier snacks.

Jamie paused for a brief moment to give Catherine the finger, before continuing to sift through the mess in the glove compartment, flinging a variation of items over her shoulder – a cigarette lighter, a fake ID for a police department, a pair of Horatio-Caine-style sunglasses – before fishing out the newest temporary mobile phone they'd bought earlier that day. It would be gone before the day was out, probably before even the hour was out. Mama-Missouri had stressed that they be untraceable, that the evil that crept the country at night would not be able to find them, and Jamie was only too happy to oblige; to keep herself preoccupied on the often long journey back home, she invented little games to get rid of their phone. Usually, they involved her throwing it out of the window and hoping that she didn't hit a police car.

She dialled the number, clearing her throat and putting on her serious face. Jamie was only ever serious when talking to Mama-Missouri. Missouri was her idol, her goddess. She had taken them in when their birth mother had abandoned them on Missouri's doorstep, frightened by their future. And frightened by them, too. Missouri always tried to hide it, but neither sister was fooled. Their birth mother had been too terrified of them to keep them. Otherwise, she wouldn't have visited Missouri.

"Mama-Missouri?" Jamie's hushed voice tore Catherine from her thoughts. She blinked a few times and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Never a good time to get distracted. But she still listened. She could hear Missouri's insistent voice on the other end of the line. "Yes, Mama, we're fine," Jamie reassured her. Her voice was achingly polite.

"You should tell her about your _injury_," Catherine teased, loud enough for Missouri to hear her through the phone. Her sudden alarmed squawk echoed through the small car.

Jamie punched Catherine's arm, glaring at her as she rushed to reassure her foster mother. "No, no, Mama, she's just trying to be funny." Catherine cackled gleefully and Jamie punched her arm again. "Mama, I'm fine. I'm getting my daily exercise," she said perkily, smiling at nothing in particular.

"And then wasting it all by eating takeout," Catherine said loudly again, laughing hysterically as Jamie gave her the finger, again trying to calm down Missouri.

"Just a little bit, Mama… well, she wouldn't behead the guy and… yes, Mama, I made sure I finished the job for her," Jamie said triumphantly. Catherine rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mama, I'm sure he's dead. Yes, Mama, we disposed of the body. Yes, Mama, we're coming right home. We'll be back in about five hours...? I miss you too, Mama. I love you too, Mama. See you soon."

She ended the call and immediately slapped the back of Catherine's head, causing the car to swerve a little as she jerked in response. "You are such a bitch."

Catherine giggled evilly. "You shouldn't lie to Mama. You know she can sense these things."

"I hardly think the spirit world is concerned with the amount of takeout food I eat."

"You'd be surprised. Spirits get bored too, y'know."

"Okay, smartass, shut the fuck up and drive, will you?"

Catherine smirked, but kept quiet, revelling in the peace that Jamie's continued eating provided. She was usually glad for Jamie's constant stream of chatter, her ability to spark lively banter from a few well-intended comments. It made these endlessly long journeys interesting, passing the time speeding through the constant stream of inky darkness by ribbing her sister, listening to her ramble about something that had crossed her mind or listening to her sing along to whatever music they could find. Jamie never usually tried to sing – she much preferred to mimic the voice of the artist singing it, exaggerating the high-pitched squeal of a Disney pop princess or the gruff growl of a rock legend. But, when she did, her voice was beautiful. Full of life and of soul, and of stories that were never conveyed in a way quite like Jamie made them seem.

On other occasions, however, Catherine liked the quiet. She liked the simple purr of the engine as it sped unseeingly through the night, she liked the spots of white light visible on the horizon, even from miles away. It calmed her. And the world of vampires and of mystics and of supernatural abilities was an age away. It didn't quite all fit inside the tiny car, and Catherine preferred it this way. It was the only somewhat normal aspect of her entire day.

She glanced at the clock, illuminated on the dashboard, and then glanced fleetingly in the side-view mirror, checking her appearance briefly. She had wiped away any traces of makeup left on her face and, now, her features shone with natural beauty. Her white face was luminous in the moonlight; the soft silvery streams making her pale blue eyes seem like icy stars in her face. She preferred her face with no makeup. Not because she was naturally beautiful without it, even though this too was true. It was because Missouri had told her how similar to her mother she was; how her eyes were almost the exact same shade of hypnotic, electric blue.

Catherine knew Missouri had told her this in kindness, hoping that she would feel a connection with this mystery woman. And she did feel a connection to her. She just didn't want to. She didn't want to look like this woman who had so heartlessly abandoned two children who had needed her, who had relied on her. She didn't need the reminders. And she didn't want them either. Missouri was their mother, in heart and soul. Blood was merely the only thing connecting Catherine to Anna May.

They hadn't even taken their mother's last name. Missouri hadn't pressured them either way – she had told them of their mother and had allowed them to choose their own last name, to not let them be swayed either way. They still hadn't decided, even now, even eighteen years later. Officially, they were May's. They felt like Moseley's. But, for now, they went with no last name and they were fine with this.

Catherine had asked Jamie, long ago, whether she would ever want to meet their parents again, should their mother come crawling back, wrinkled and old and alone, weeping for forgiveness for leaving her darling daughters behind.

Jamie's face had turned to stone and she had not replied. But Catherine had her answer.

She often thought of their father too, not that she would ever confess this to Jamie. Her sister had had a similar reaction to the idea of meeting their father; on the day that Missouri had told them everything that she knew about their father, Jamie had gone quiet. Then, after Missouri had left them alone, she had put her thin hands on Catherine's childlike bony shoulders and had confessed, in a voice full of suppressed rage and eyes full of emerald fire, that she would kill the man should he ever come near them. And Catherine had believed her.

She just wasn't sure she agreed.

He had been possessed, Missouri had told them. He had not been himself when he had attacked their mother. But, then again, he was not their true father. The mortal man had not given them their demonic heritage. The creature who had taken his body had done that unknowingly, not even lingering to enjoy the effects of his destruction.

The sound of Jamie's voice, wailing along to some song on their patchy radio, brought her back to herself. Catherine took a deep breath, steadying herself, flexing her hands on the steering wheel. She listened to her sister screech along to the radio, a small smile growing on her face as her father slowly faded from her mind.

She did not need to think about this. Not now.

As soon as they pulled up outside of Missouri's lovely familiar house, Catherine felt completely at ease again, all troubled thoughts vanished from her mind.

Maybe not all ill thoughts. Jamie's constant singing and nonsensical chatter had left her with the urge to strangle her sister silent. In a loving way, of course.

Jamie was silent now. Perhaps she'd gotten tired of always having to be heard. Her flawless face drooped with exhaustion and her mouth was constantly open, always on the verge of stretching into an endless 'O'.

The small brown wooden door opened before they even had time to knock. Missouri's kindly face, her rich dark skin stretched with worry lines, appeared in the doorway, her makeup only slightly smudged, still wearing clothes you would wear during the day time. Catherine thought nothing of this; it wasn't uncommon for Missouri to wait for them to get back from a job. She worried, even when the spirit world told her she shouldn't.

"Mama!" Jamie exclaimed, lurching forwards to hug their foster mother, having to stoop over to hug her. Missouri was so tiny in comparison to Jamie.

Missouri squeezed her back for one moment before putting her hands on her shoulders and leaning back to observe her.

The slap came quickly then, soft and playful. "Did you ruin my healthy food regime again, child?" she pretended to snap, a warmness glowing in her kind brown eyes.

Jamie adopted a meek expression. "Thought I'd earned it," she mumbled, tilting her head so that she was looking up at Missouri through a thick fringe of black eyelashes, fluttering her devastating green eyes in a manner that made Missouri laugh, a sound full of warmth and honey.

"So help me, child, you'll be eating greens if it's the last thing I do," she smiled.

Catherine noticed the smile did not quite reach her eyes this time. Missouri was worried.

Catherine stepped forward, her magnificent sapphire eyes narrowed in concern. "Mama," she said softly, her voice as light as a feather. Her quiet, thoughtful tone carried more weight than Jamie's; it was heard so much less. "Are you alright?"

Jamie's beautiful face darkened. Mama-Missouri being in any sort of distress warranted the person who had caused her that distress an immediate punishment. "Mama?" she said.

Missouri Moseley looked at both of them, these girls that she loved so dearly, these women that she had hidden from the world for so long, for fear of what might try to harm them should she release them.

But the world had come calling.

Missouri Moseley sighed.

"We have guests," she said quietly, spreading her arms out in welcome, pushing the door aside.


	4. Chapter 4

_So, I thought I'd say a quick hello. I'm getting much too excited when I see people reading this, I fear I'm becoming quite obsessed with updating this story. :'D_

_Drop by with some reviews if you'd like. I apologise for the shortness of this chapter; I'm getting my Supernatural on, and I have a lecture tomorrow morning. I'm bringing the boys in during the next chapter! Just a little longer for some Sam and Dean lovings, I promise. :D_

_Enjoy!_

Immediately, the girls poised themselves for action. Jamie's hand went immediately to Missouri, curling around her large shoulder, ready to fling her back at the first sign of trouble. Eyes blazing, her gaze slid behind her foster mother, her free hand already stretched behind her back, tightening eagerly over the leather strap of her machete. Beside her, Catherine tensed. Her main asset was her ability, her gift, the power to paralyse an opponent with a mere touch of her fingertip to their bare skin. But it drained her, pulled all of her energy, both supernatural and otherwise, out of her. Without it, she was still a fierce fighter, fiercer now that Mama-Missouri had been threatened, but she was no match for Jamie. Catherine's blue-eyed gaze went instinctively to her sister. She noticed the stoop of Jamie's back, curved into a protective crouch; the hand already grasping the machete, ready to pull it free and slice an attacker down the middle with a deadly precision; the unerringly focused eyes, scanning the scene behind Missouri, her emerald eyes missing not even the slightest detail.

This was a warrior you'd follow into battle, knowing she would be more deadly and more successful than a professionally trained soldier.

Almost unconsciously, Catherine's body bent to match Jamie's. If Jamie moved, Catherine would move in a perfectly synchronised manner. It was something they'd practised over the years, having developed a quick disdain for schoolwork and the mindless chatter of the unsuspecting masses.

Missouri's fondly disapproving voice disturbed them then. "Cut that out right now. You think I'd just let some creature of evil into my house?"

Jamie relaxed a little, but only a little. She knew better than to question Missouri, since Missouri rarely dabbled in being wrong, but she did not completely relax. The two women standing next to her were the two most important people to Jamie in the entire world. If there was even a remote chance they were in trouble, no matter how small this chance might be, Jamie was not going to relax, not for even a brief moment.

Missouri saw this and her full dark lips pursed, but she didn't comment. She knew how much Jamie and Catherine cared for her. She wasn't about to chastise them for it.

"They've come for help," Missouri said softly, turning her head from Jamie to Catherine, centring her attention on the much more volatile Jamie. Out of the two of them, if she even suspected for a second that Missouri had been threatened, Jamie would not hesitate to attack first and question later. "They need our help."

_Our help_.

"What do you mean _our help_?" Jamie asked. Her voice was steady, her hands remarkably calm. She was in her element.

But Missouri had taught her how to pull off tough and ready. And she was better at it. She tensed her shoulders, straightening her back as tall as she could, pushing herself right up against her daughter. It was a frightening image, an image that disturbed Catherine to see: her foster mother, small and kind and plump Missouri, the image of the motherly tendencies, her creased brown eyes unwavering and true. And then there was Jamie, tall, athletically built, with hair that gleamed blood red under Missouri's porch light, eyes so vivid green that it made Catherine's head hurt to look at her. The image of an avenging angel.

But even an avenging angel wouldn't mess with Missouri Moseley.

Jamie's shoulders slumped and Catherine recognised this as Jamie stepping back for a moment. Not admitting defeat – Catherine doubted Jamie would back down even if she had lost all of her limbs and was against an army of thousands. Just merely backing down.

"Where are they?" Jamie asked reluctantly. Her voice was gruff.

Missouri poked her chest, frowning sternly. "You be polite now. They're still guests."

Catherine had to bite back a smirk at the twisted expression on Jamie's face. Polite was a word not often in Jamie's vocabulary. Still, she'd keep her mouth shut. For a few minutes, at least.

Missouri led them inside. Immediately Jamie noticed the heavy jackets hanging on the coat rack next to the door. Men's jackets, two of them. One a faded black denim, the other a tanned brown leather; both of them were broad-shouldered, meant to fit men with muscle. These guests would be hunters.

Jamie's eyes narrowed. She didn't like other hunters.

She noticed Missouri's gaze hovering on her, questioningly. She clenched her jaw and nodded. Catherine could barely meet her eyes. The fire in her sister's eyes was painful to look at.

Missouri led them to the living room, pausing outside of the sliding, oak double doors. She turned and faced her daughters again. And the fire in Missouri's typically kind-hearted brown eyes matched the emerald blaze in Jamie's.

They didn't exchange words, just stared each other down. Catherine felt uncomfortable just looking at them.

Missouri pushed open the doors, revealing the visitors plaguing them.


	5. Chapter 5

_The Winchesters are in the building, beetches. Hoping that my Sam and Dean are believable as the Sam and Dean we all know and love. Already working on a new chapter (I swear to God, I'm addicted to this, I keep sitting in the kitchen with my housemates thinking about how much I want to be writing :D) so enjoy this for now! Leave your thoughts if you want or appreciate in silence. At least, I hope you're appreciating. :D_

They were standing in the middle of the living room, close enough to the soft brown sofa pressed up against the eastern wall to suggest that they'd risen out of polite courtesy. The hunters that came here often did this and it usually made Jamie smile, seeing men, who were capable slicing a vampire's head clean off of its shoulders and walking away with nothing more than a whistle and a smile, leap up off of the sofa in a show of politeness to Missouri Moseley and her daughters. There was never any disrespect with hunters, either. Jamie wasn't quite sure if they saved all of their disdain and anger for the monsters they pursued, if they were both too afraid and too respectful of Mama-Missouri, or if they had heard of what Jamie and Catherine were capable of. Whichever way, they wisely kept quiet, even though the suspicion was clear in their eyes whenever they looked at Jamie, Jamie more so than Catherine. Jamie couldn't really blame them. These were people who hunted evil for a living. Jamie and Catherine were the product of an evil creature performing an evil act. There had to be a hint of evil lingering around them still, even after all this time.

Of course, this didn't mean she was fine whenever hunters glared at her sister from across the room, cutting their eyes at her over the brim of the coffee cups Missouri served religiously to each and every guest. Because, despite of her ability to practically kill someone with a powerfully charged touch of her finger, Catherine had a genuinely good heart. If she had bad thoughts about others, she never spoke them. If someone spoke bad thoughts about her, she never retaliated, never rose to it like Jamie so often did. She was just good, through and through. It was obvious to look at her. Well, to Jamie, at least. So, when a hunter narrowed their eyes at Catherine, hands tightening around the handle of their cup, their free hands creeping almost subconsciously towards their ever-present weapons, Jamie would make a point of catching their attention, to bring the focus on her.

And, when they did, Jamie made sure they could see her anger. She made sure they could see the straight thin silver daggers she strapped against her wrists, hidden under a long, tightly fitted black leather jacket. She made sure they could see her hair glint the colour of spilled blood, suddenly so vibrant. She made sure they could see the scars on the backs of her hands, incoherent spirals of flesh carved permanently into the skin, from where people had tried to stop her before.

And she made especially sure to fix them with her gaze, like a snake hypnotising its next meal. She knew all too well how their eyes would widen in alarm, the hand snaking quicker towards their weapons, every single muscle in their body screaming at them to kill the evil sitting comfortably in the beige leather armchair across from them. But she also knew that, as soon as they became hunters, as soon as they started to analyse her as a monster to be killed, they saw her human side. They saw the concern behind the anger in her eyes. They saw the protective lean to her posture, always tipped towards Catherine and Missouri.

After that, they respected her, no matter how grudging that respect may have been. And they respected Catherine, which was the important thing. But it still didn't mean Jamie liked them any more. She usually hated them, not for their profession, but for disturbing the peace that so rarely fell on this house, on the three of them. She saw the lines on Missouri's face, saw her concern for her daughters written plainly on her face, and she hated it. She didn't want Missouri to worry about the problems of people she couldn't do anything to help, but Missouri would worry anyway.

This was precisely why she wasn't particularly keen on the fact that these two strangers had disturbed Missouri. That and the fact that she'd now have to stay up even later, and she was absolutely exhausted.

The two strangers turned to look at the open door, and the first thing Jamie noted is that they're related, brothers, with their lightly tanned skin, dark chocolate coloured hair and similarly olive green eyes. The main differences between them are in attitude; the one closest to Jamie is clearly the oldest, obvious in the way that he takes a subtle step forward, planting himself in front of his younger brother without making it too obvious. Jamie's attention immediately flickered to the older, a small smirk spreading across her face as she recognised the protective stance she so often adopted. The hunter closest to her was around her height, a good few inches shorter than his younger brother, who must have reached six foot three, maybe six foot four. The older had hair cropped tight to his head, careless dark spikes. He was remarkably good looking, well toned and muscled, and very well aware of this fact; as their eyes met, he smirked arrogantly, the hunter in him relaxing as soon as he saw that it was just a pretty girl walking towards him.

Jamie smiled too. It was so much more fun when they underestimated her.

She turned her head to inspect the other, and her smiled quickly dropped. She barely noticed the fact that he too was extraordinarily attractive, with long dark hair that ended in short curls at the nape of his neck and a long lean body. All she noticed was the startled set of his green eyes, widened in alarm. In fear. But not fear of her, or for himself. It was almost like he was afraid _for _her.

"Dean," the younger whispered. His voice was quiet, shaky, breathless.

Jamie felt unnerved. The transfixed terror in his eyes wasn't something she was used to. Blind terror, yes. Anger, yes. Suspicion, yes, all of the above applied. But not this kind of anxiety, especially from a complete stranger.

The other brother looked at him, his handsome face cold upon noting the wavering in his brother's voice. "What is it, what's wrong?" he asked, his body half turned towards his brother, wanting to focus all of his attention on his brother but unable to let himself turn his back on an unknown stranger. A stranger his brother was currently staring at like he'd seen a ghost.

The younger swallowed, eyes not leaving Jamie's face for a second. She felt uncomfortable. And this was not an easy feat. She was usually the one doing the psyching out, not the other way around. She curled her hands into tight fists and held her ground, lifting her head and meeting his eyes with unrelenting steel.

But it was like he didn't even notice. He swallowed nervously and opened his mouth.

Missouri's voice rang out first. "You saw her, didn't you." It was not a question.

The younger nodded helplessly. He looked lost.

Jamie turned her head to the side, keeping her body and half of her face turned towards the hunters. "Mama, what's going on?"

It was if her voice had broken some sort of spell; the younger hunter blinked a few times, his forehead wrinkling as he frowned, like he couldn't believe she was real, like she was really talking. When she shot him a glower back, he dropped his gaze and blushed.

_Blushed_. The usual hunters didn't blush.

If anything, Jamie felt this made her like him more than the other hunters. Just a little bit more, obviously. Still a hunter.

She cast a confused glance at his brother. He was staring at the younger hunter, a bemused expression on his handsome face.

Missouri pushed her way forwards, commanding attention. Her focus was on the younger hunter, her soft brown eyes encouraging, open.

In a symbolic movement, she stood right in front of the hunters and turned her back to them, leaving her completely defenceless. Jamie had to suppress the urge to hiss. Mama-Missouri in a position of vulnerability was wrong, wrong, wrong.

"This is Sam and Dean Winchester," Missouri announced gently, a hand gesturing first to the younger hunter (_Sam_) and his brother (_Dean)_. Her free hand rested affectionately on Sam's shoulder. Missouri turned back to her daughters, her face stern. Jamie relaxed almost instantly. This was a gesture they'd practised before when Jamie hadn't taken to a hunter immediately; Missouri would place her hand on the hunter's shoulder and give her a nod. That meant they could be trusted.

Missouri gave her an emphatic nod. These hunters were safe.

The change in Jamie's demeanour was instant. She allowed a genuine smile to cross her face, slouching out of her tensed position and into a more casual stance, running a hand through her hair. Missouri's responding smile was lovely, relieved. "These are my daughters, Jamie and Catherine," Missouri said, pointing at each girl in turn. Jamie gave both of them a smile and a nod. Catherine edged out from behind her sister, took one look at Dean and blushed, pushing her dark hair in front of her face to try and hide the bright red bloom on her cheeks.

Jamie noticed the answering smirk spread across Dean's face and narrowed her eyes. She was still trying to avoid Sam's intense gaze. He was staring at her again, but not in the way that almost every man stared at her. He looked curious. And Jamie didn't really know what to do with that.

"Nice to meet you both," she said. "But you've got a fucking awful sense of visiting hours."

Both of the Winchester brothers laughed, even as Missouri glowered at Jamie from across the room. It eased some of the tension in the room.

Jamie smiled and ran her hand through her hair again, fluffing it up. "Dya want me to make some tea, Mama?"

"Please," Missouri said dryly before turning back to the brothers and waving her hand for them to sit down. "Sit down, please. And don't you put your feet on my coffee table," she snapped, her long dark finger jabbing in Dean's direction as he bent his knees to sit. His eyes widened and he looked stunned. "I wasn't gunna-" he stammered. He has a pleasant speaking voice, husky and rough.

Behind him, Sam turned his head to hide his grin.

"You were thinking about it," Missouri said, narrowing her eyes at him. Only Jamie and Catherine could recognise the genuine affection behind her words. Dean just looked a little frightened. Jamie didn't bother to hide her smile; it was nice being on the opposite side of this for once.

"You know what," Dean said, rising again. He turned to Jamie, his expression pleading. "I'll help you with that tea."

Jamie grinned wider. "That'd be nice, thank you," she said, turning around and heading for the kitchen.

Behind her, she heard Missouri pipe up again, even more disapprovingly. "Get those thoughts of your head right now, Dean Winchester, or I'm gunna whack you with a spoon."

Jamie shook her head, chuckling to herself. She could hear Dean's frantic steps behind her. "See, it sounds like she's talking to _me_… but she's actually talking to _you_…," she said without turning around, pushing open the door to the kitchen and taking a deep breath as she stepped inside. Mama-Missouri had been cooking and the kitchen smelt unbelievably good. Like freshly baked cookies. Cookies were always a good post-hunt snack. Most often combined with whiskey. Lots and lots of whiskey. She turned to Dean then, a look of overly theatrical wonder on her face. "I kinda like it… the view is so different from this side of the fence… the grass is so _nice_…"

"Well, I'm glad I could help you out," Dean sad dryly, leaning against the kitchen countertop as Jamie rummaged around in the cabinets, searching for mugs and teabags. He studied her as she moved, his olive green eyes staying on her face the whole time. "But won't it be worse," he continued, watching her face the whole time. "Knowing what it was like on the other side and having to go back to it…?"

Jamie considered this as she dropped teabags into five plain white mugs, the 'visitor mugs', and held the kettle under the sink tap. "I don't know. I've spent too long on this side of the fence. I've acclimatised."

"Even if she doesn't hit you with a spoon?"

"I kinda miss the spoon. It's how she showed me she cared."

Dean laughed, a warm rich sound that was pleasant to listen to. It even made something flutter in her stomach, nervous and excited and happy and anxious all at the same time. "You must be an interesting hunter if that's affection for you."

She shrugged, turning the kettle on and hoping onto the kitchen countertop. "I'm taking out all of the spoon-beatings on the hunts," she grinned. Speaking of the hunt reminded her of all of her weaponry, still on her person, poking uncomfortably into her flesh. She hopped off the counter again with a sigh, pulling off her black leather jacket and tossing it onto the sturdy kitchen table, revealing the silver daggers attached to her wrists, the machete strapped to her back. She unbuckled the straps of her wrist harnesses first, placing them lovingly on the table, then reaching behind her to undo the machete harness.

"Been on a job?" Dean asked, amusement thick in his voice.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, her voice perfectly level and calm. She put the machete down onto the table, running a finger down the strong silver blade before turning back to Dean. His expression was sceptical.

She smirked. "Vampire in Oklahoma."

Dean looked at her disbelievingly. "A vampire?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Never killed a vampire before?"

"Never came across one before."

Jamie studied him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Never come across a vampire?" He shook his head. "How long have you been hunting?"

"All my life," he responded fiercely. Jamie couldn't tell if he was proud of this or angry about it.

"And not one eensy little vampire?"

Dean suddenly smirked, determined not to be out-done. "Maybe we hunt bigger game than vampires."

Jamie grinned. A challenge. "Such as?"

Dean straightened up off the kitchen counter and took a step forwards. "Demons."

Jamie took a step forwards. "Who hasn't?"

Another step for Dean. "A woman in white."

Jamie took a step. "Werewolves."

"A wendigo."

"Poltergeists."

"Bloody Mary."

They were close now, only a few metres apart. "Shapeshifters."

"The Hook Man."

They were mere inches apart now. Jamie could smell the thick scent of leather combined with men's cologne, tangy and fruity. He smelled good. Real good.

She looked at him, only having to crane her head a little to look upwards, he was only an inch or so taller than her five foot ten. "All that and still no vampires?"

"Not even The Count."

"Well," she said, leaning closer to him. Their chests were only millimetres apart. She hadn't been close enough to him before, but now she noticed how nice his lips were, full and slightly pursed. "Maybe when you join the big leagues, you'll finally be able to catch me up," she smirked, her chest brushing against him as she slid past, to the now steaming kettle.

His answering laugh was slightly breathless. When she turned to him again, brandishing a mug of piping hot tea, his face was bright, alight with interest. "I think I understand the need for the spoon now," he said, taking a triumphant sip of tea and disappearing out of the kitchen door.


	6. Chapter 6

_Two chapters in one night. I'm spoiling you guys. _

_So I used some of the dialogue from the episode in Season 1 this story is kinda based on, the _'Home' _episode. Borrowing it, of course. :D _

_As always, leave reviews, don't leave reviews, do whatever the heck you like._

_Stay beautiful._

"Go ahead, Sam," Missouri said gently, placing a large dark hand on the knee of Sam's faded blue denim jeans. He drew in a deep breath, running a shaky hand through damp wavy hair, trying to avoid the pair of green eyes sitting to his left, staring so powerfully at him. He was aware of her even when he tried not to look at her, tried not to picture her flawless face. Looking at her face brought back the dream of her standing in the doorway of his old house, a doomed smile on her sad face. She looked perfect, angelic, mahogany hair spilling in loose curls over her shoulders, wearing a simple white tank top and dark blue skinny jeans, still managing to look like a goddess. She smiled one more time, a sole shining tear sparkling like a crystal on her suddenly pale face.

And then she was yanked backwards, her mouth open in an endless scream, the echo of her cries bouncing around inside Sam's head, mingling with the cries of the woman upstairs, her eyes pleading with him for help, judging him for not being able to give it.

He took another shuddering breath and looked up, staring over at his brother. Dean's face was blank, but as their eyes met, Dean nodded once curtly. It was about as encouraging a sign as Dean could manage.

Sam looked at the ground and nodded at nothing. He nodded again and looked directly at Jamie, an overwhelming feeling of guilt surging through his chest as he met her curious green gaze. _I couldn't save her_.

_She's not dead yet_.

"I have these… nightmares," he began, like he was addressing her alone. Her hands twitched, like she'd like to move around, and Sam realised she was uncomfortable, however unwilling she was to show it. But he couldn't stop. He had to explain himself to her, to why he couldn't save her. _She's not dead, dammit, get a grip_. "And sometimes… they come true," he said hesitantly, his eyes flickering away and then immediately back again as he finished talking, eager and reluctant to see her reaction.

Her expression hadn't changed. She was clearly used to stranger things.

"And a few days ago… I had another one," he continued, looking quickly over at his brother. Dean looked more uncomfortable than Jamie did, miles more uncomfortable. He hadn't exactly taken the news of Sam's newfound ability particularly well. "It was about our old house, here in Lawrence…" He paused for a moment. He hadn't known his mother at all, but it was still difficult to talk about her death, her _murder_. "See, when we were kids, our mother was murdered. By something supernatural. Something we never caught."

Jamie's eyes were soft now. Her hand stretched out towards him, like she wanted to hold his hand. Instead, she placed it on his other knee, her hand mirroring the poise of Missouri's on his other leg. He glanced down at her hand, long and slender and golden brown, and then back at her. Her small smile felt like a bubble in his chest; he instantly felt lighter. And then he remembered his dream, his nightmare, and his mood darkened again.

"I remember," Missouri spoke up quietly, her voice distant. She looked disturbed. "Your father came to me, asked me for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him."

The expression on Dean's face was indecipherable. "What about the fire? Do you… do you know about what killed our Mom?"

The sudden distortion on Missouri's face clearly showed how vivid the memory still was for her. And Jamie remembered too; she remembered, even as a child, the haunted look on Missouri's face as she had come back inside, giving them both hugs so tight that Jamie thought her head was going to pop off like a Barbie doll's. And when they'd asked what was wrong, a man had appeared in the dark behind them, a man with thick black curly hair, a dark tan and haunted eyes, cradled by heavy black bags underneath and a mass of unkempt facial hair. He had taken one look at them, at their large wide eyes pooling with confusion, and his face had crumpled. But he'd fixed a watery smile on his face and had come over anyway. _They're beautiful_, he'd said, bending down to be on an even height to them. Jamie could see the sadness in his soul through his great dark eyes.

And when she'd asked if he was alright, he'd shaken his head, tears glistening dangerously on the edge of his gaze.

She'd asked if he was hurt. He'd nodded, lips clamped tightly shut together.

She'd asked if she could make him better. He'd shaken his head and smiled weakly. _I don't think I'll ever get better_.

Jamie thought of that man now, of Missouri's face. Her expression now mirrored the one she'd worn when this stranger had come to call. A stranger bearing a remarkable resemblance to the Winchester boys. A man who'd visited about twenty years ago, from a nearby house in Lawrence.

Father Winchester.

Jamie glanced over at Catherine. Her sister had clearly figured it out too.

"A little," Missouri said warily. "Your daddy took me to your house." Jamie could remember her reluctance, could remember watching her talking to herself in the mirror. _That man needs your help. He needs to know the truth_. _Now go and help him, you silly woman_. "He was hoping I could sense the echoes, the… fingerprints of this thing."

"And could you?" Sam asked urgently, hopefully.

Missouri, however, was growing more and more reluctant to share. "A little," she said cagily. Over in the corner, Dean huffed impatiently.

Sam, on the other hand, was a little more patient. "What was it?"

Everyone leaned in. Missouri's eyes were dark. She looked to be on the edge of tears. "I don't know," she said, her voice breathy and weak. She sounded apologetic. "Oh. But it was evil," she added, biting her bottom lip and breathing out heavily. Jamie clamped her hand down tightly on her mother's, squeezing it in gentle flexes to bring her out of her memories.

Missouri took in a gasping, shuddering breath. She blinked a few times, like she wasn't sure where she was. Her eyes found Jamie's and she sighed in relief, reaching out with her hand to gently press the palm of her hand to Jamie's face. She stroked Jamie's cheekbone, trying to soothe her.

It wasn't working.

She dropped her hand, sighed again, and looked at Sam, the steel in her eyes impressive for a woman who looked to be on the edge of a breakdown mere seconds ago.

"What happened in the rest of the dream, Sam?" she asked, effectively brushing away the last few moments of vulnerability. Sam cleared his throat, glancing over at Dean with alarmed eyes. Dean looked troubled, staring vacantly off at nothing with a frown.

Sam turned to Jamie. The next part of this story concerned her the most.

"In the dream, I saw you," he said, not bothering to clarify who 'you' was; everyone could see his attention riveted to her. "You were standing in our old house while another woman was screaming for help upstairs; and then something pulled you backwards and you were gone."

Jamie's jaw clenched. No matter how self-assured she was, hearing about what could potentially be her death was not an easy task. She noticed Missouri's hand tighten on Sam's knee and she noticed Catherine leaning forward, her pale face fixated on Sam, her expression deathly serious. It was an expression that unnerved Jamie on Catherine, an expression of such focused attention that she looked like she was concentrating on how to throttle Sam for what he was saying.

"And that's why we came to Missouri," Sam said softly, turning his head to look at the older woman. "She helped our dad before. Maybe she can help us this time too."

Nobody spoke. Sam cleared his throat again. "We were hoping you'd come to the house with us. To get a read on whatever might be in there."

Jamie's face went dark, her expression black. "I'm not sure how good an idea that will be."

Sam looked back at her. Her fierce expression made him feel almost angry. Jealous, mostly; that she could feel such fierce concern for her mother figure, when he had none to speak of. Not even a present father figure, merely a missing one.

"That isn't for you to decide," Missouri said, with a quiet insistence. Her tone should have signalled the end of the discussion.

Jamie, however, refused to let it die. "You said it yourself this thing was evil. And I'm not going to let you get so close to said evil. I won't."

"I agree," Catherine spoke up, her usually timid tone reinforced with anger. Her blue eyes crackled. "Mama, you're not a hunter. You could get hurt."

"Being a hunter doesn't mean you don't get hurt," Missouri fired back. "And, since this house could be responsible for something that hurts you," she said to Jamie. "I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't try to stop that from happening, now would I?"

Dean ducked his head, not wanting to let anyone see the rush of emotion flooding through him when he saw Missouri's concern for her daughters. He clenched his jaw and tried to hold back the bitterness, the feeling in the pit of his stomach that felt like screaming or destroying something.

He looked back up, emotionless, and tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that was wondering what motherly affection had felt like.

Jamie opened her mouth to argue against Missouri, but she was swiftly silenced. "Jamie, I swear to God, if you're gunna argue with me any more, I'm gunna lock you in the garden shed and make you count spider webs, are we clear?"

Jamie glowered. Being a half demon, supernatural fighting badass didn't stop her from being ever-so-slightly, just a little bit unnerved by spiders. Missouri always threatened to make her spend a night counting spider webs. She hadn't done it as of yet, but she was passionate enough about this to actually go through with it.

Jamie hissed under her breath and sank back in her seat. She resisted the urge to hold her arms and sulk like a child.

Missouri smiled triumphantly and looked at Sam and Dean, a black eyebrow slightly raised questioningly. She met Catherine's gaze; Catherine's need to keep Missouri out of harm's way was equally matched with the compulsion to make sure her sister wasn't hurt either.

They stared each other out for a while, saying nothing.

Finally, Catherine nodded. Much as she didn't want Missouri hurt, Jamie's potential death was a pain so agonising she couldn't consider it.

Plus, with Jamie's near manic desire to protect Missouri, their foster mother would be perfectly safe.

Jamie scowled at her sister, unhappy that she had caved so easily.

Catherine didn't respond.

"That's what I thought," Missouri said primly, and stood. Sam and Dean leapt to their feet again. Jamie and Catherine stayed seated, both glaring at each other across the room. Missouri ignored her scowling daughters and turned to the boys. Her expression was much softer. "We'll go see what's what tomorrow. Jamie and Catherine will get you some spare pillows and blankets, and you can stay on the sofa. No shoes," she shot at Dean, who looked flustered again.

She made to walk out of the room and then stopped at the door. "And no heading upstairs neither."


	7. Chapter 7

_Two chapters in one night. I'm spoiling you guys. _

_So I used some of the dialogue from the episode in Season 1 this story is kinda based on, the _'Home' _episode. Borrowing it, of course. :D _

_As always, leave reviews, don't leave reviews, do whatever the heck you like._

_Stay beautiful._

"Go ahead, Sam," Missouri said gently, placing a large dark hand on the knee of Sam's faded blue denim jeans. He drew in a deep breath, running a shaky hand through damp wavy hair, trying to avoid the pair of green eyes sitting to his left, staring so powerfully at him. He was aware of her even when he tried not to look at her, tried not to picture her flawless face. Looking at her face brought back the dream of her standing in the doorway of his old house, a doomed smile on her sad face. She looked perfect, angelic, mahogany hair spilling in loose curls over her shoulders, wearing a simple white tank top and dark blue skinny jeans, still managing to look like a goddess. She smiled one more time, a sole shining tear sparkling like a crystal on her suddenly pale face.

And then she was yanked backwards, her mouth open in an endless scream, the echo of her cries bouncing around inside Sam's head, mingling with the cries of the woman upstairs, her eyes pleading with him for help, judging him for not being able to give it.

He took another shuddering breath and looked up, staring over at his brother. Dean's face was blank, but as their eyes met, Dean nodded once curtly. It was about as encouraging a sign as Dean could manage.

Sam looked at the ground and nodded at nothing. He nodded again and looked directly at Jamie, an overwhelming feeling of guilt surging through his chest as he met her curious green gaze. _I couldn't save her_.

_She's not dead yet_.

"I have these… nightmares," he began, like he was addressing her alone. Her hands twitched, like she'd like to move around, and Sam realised she was uncomfortable, however unwilling she was to show it. But he couldn't stop. He had to explain himself to her, to why he couldn't save her. _She's not dead, dammit, get a grip_. "And sometimes… they come true," he said hesitantly, his eyes flickering away and then immediately back again as he finished talking, eager and reluctant to see her reaction.

Her expression hadn't changed. She was clearly used to stranger things.

"And a few days ago… I had another one," he continued, looking quickly over at his brother. Dean looked more uncomfortable than Jamie did, miles more uncomfortable. He hadn't exactly taken the news of Sam's newfound ability particularly well. "It was about our old house, here in Lawrence…" He paused for a moment. He hadn't known his mother at all, but it was still difficult to talk about her death, her _murder_. "See, when we were kids, our mother was murdered. By something supernatural. Something we never caught."

Jamie's eyes were soft now. Her hand stretched out towards him, like she wanted to hold his hand. Instead, she placed it on his other knee, her hand mirroring the poise of Missouri's on his other leg. He glanced down at her hand, long and slender and golden brown, and then back at her. Her small smile felt like a bubble in his chest; he instantly felt lighter. And then he remembered his dream, his nightmare, and his mood darkened again.

"I remember," Missouri spoke up quietly, her voice distant. She looked disturbed. "Your father came to me, asked me for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him."

The expression on Dean's face was indecipherable. "What about the fire? Do you… do you know about what killed our Mom?"

The sudden distortion on Missouri's face clearly showed how vivid the memory still was for her. And Jamie remembered too; she remembered, even as a child, the haunted look on Missouri's face as she had come back inside, giving them both hugs so tight that Jamie thought her head was going to pop off like a Barbie doll's. And when they'd asked what was wrong, a man had appeared in the dark behind them, a man with thick black curly hair, a dark tan and haunted eyes, cradled by heavy black bags underneath and a mass of unkempt facial hair. He had taken one look at them, at their large wide eyes pooling with confusion, and his face had crumpled. But he'd fixed a watery smile on his face and had come over anyway. _They're beautiful_, he'd said, bending down to be on an even height to them. Jamie could see the sadness in his soul through his great dark eyes.

And when she'd asked if he was alright, he'd shaken his head, tears glistening dangerously on the edge of his gaze.

She'd asked if he was hurt. He'd nodded, lips clamped tightly shut together.

She'd asked if she could make him better. He'd shaken his head and smiled weakly. _I don't think I'll ever get better_.

Jamie thought of that man now, of Missouri's face. Her expression now mirrored the one she'd worn when this stranger had come to call. A stranger bearing a remarkable resemblance to the Winchester boys. A man who'd visited about twenty years ago, from a nearby house in Lawrence.

Father Winchester.

Jamie glanced over at Catherine. Her sister had clearly figured it out too.

"A little," Missouri said warily. "Your daddy took me to your house." Jamie could remember her reluctance, could remember watching her talking to herself in the mirror. _That man needs your help. He needs to know the truth_. _Now go and help him, you silly woman_. "He was hoping I could sense the echoes, the… fingerprints of this thing."

"And could you?" Sam asked urgently, hopefully.

Missouri, however, was growing more and more reluctant to share. "A little," she said cagily. Over in the corner, Dean huffed impatiently.

Sam, on the other hand, was a little more patient. "What was it?"

Everyone leaned in. Missouri's eyes were dark. She looked to be on the edge of tears. "I don't know," she said, her voice breathy and weak. She sounded apologetic. "Oh. But it was evil," she added, biting her bottom lip and breathing out heavily. Jamie clamped her hand down tightly on her mother's, squeezing it in gentle flexes to bring her out of her memories.

Missouri took in a gasping, shuddering breath. She blinked a few times, like she wasn't sure where she was. Her eyes found Jamie's and she sighed in relief, reaching out with her hand to gently press the palm of her hand to Jamie's face. She stroked Jamie's cheekbone, trying to soothe her.

It wasn't working.

She dropped her hand, sighed again, and looked at Sam, the steel in her eyes impressive for a woman who looked to be on the edge of a breakdown mere seconds ago.

"What happened in the rest of the dream, Sam?" she asked, effectively brushing away the last few moments of vulnerability. Sam cleared his throat, glancing over at Dean with alarmed eyes. Dean looked troubled, staring vacantly off at nothing with a frown.

Sam turned to Jamie. The next part of this story concerned her the most.

"In the dream, I saw you," he said, not bothering to clarify who 'you' was; everyone could see his attention riveted to her. "You were standing in our old house while another woman was screaming for help upstairs; and then something pulled you backwards and you were gone."

Jamie's jaw clenched. No matter how self-assured she was, hearing about what could potentially be her death was not an easy task. She noticed Missouri's hand tighten on Sam's knee and she noticed Catherine leaning forward, her pale face fixated on Sam, her expression deathly serious. It was an expression that unnerved Jamie on Catherine, an expression of such focused attention that she looked like she was concentrating on how to throttle Sam for what he was saying.

"And that's why we came to Missouri," Sam said softly, turning his head to look at the older woman. "She helped our dad before. Maybe she can help us this time too."

Nobody spoke. Sam cleared his throat again. "We were hoping you'd come to the house with us. To get a read on whatever might be in there."

Jamie's face went dark, her expression black. "I'm not sure how good an idea that will be."

Sam looked back at her. Her fierce expression made him feel almost angry. Jealous, mostly; that she could feel such fierce concern for her mother figure, when he had none to speak of. Not even a present father figure, merely a missing one.

"That isn't for you to decide," Missouri said, with a quiet insistence. Her tone should have signalled the end of the discussion.

Jamie, however, refused to let it die. "You said it yourself this thing was evil. And I'm not going to let you get so close to said evil. I won't."

"I agree," Catherine spoke up, her usually timid tone reinforced with anger. Her blue eyes crackled. "Mama, you're not a hunter. You could get hurt."

"Being a hunter doesn't mean you don't get hurt," Missouri fired back. "And, since this house could be responsible for something that hurts you," she said to Jamie. "I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't try to stop that from happening, now would I?"

Dean ducked his head, not wanting to let anyone see the rush of emotion flooding through him when he saw Missouri's concern for her daughters. He clenched his jaw and tried to hold back the bitterness, the feeling in the pit of his stomach that felt like screaming or destroying something.

He looked back up, emotionless, and tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that was wondering what motherly affection had felt like.

Jamie opened her mouth to argue against Missouri, but she was swiftly silenced. "Jamie, I swear to God, if you're gunna argue with me any more, I'm gunna lock you in the garden shed and make you count spider webs, are we clear?"

Jamie glowered. Being a half demon, supernatural fighting badass didn't stop her from being ever-so-slightly, just a little bit unnerved by spiders. Missouri always threatened to make her spend a night counting spider webs. She hadn't done it as of yet, but she was passionate enough about this to actually go through with it.

Jamie hissed under her breath and sank back in her seat. She resisted the urge to hold her arms and sulk like a child.

Missouri smiled triumphantly and looked at Sam and Dean, a black eyebrow slightly raised questioningly. She met Catherine's gaze; Catherine's need to keep Missouri out of harm's way was equally matched with the compulsion to make sure her sister wasn't hurt either.

They stared each other out for a while, saying nothing.

Finally, Catherine nodded. Much as she didn't want Missouri hurt, Jamie's potential death was a pain so agonising she couldn't consider it.

Plus, with Jamie's near manic desire to protect Missouri, their foster mother would be perfectly safe.

Jamie scowled at her sister, unhappy that she had caved so easily.

Catherine didn't respond.

"That's what I thought," Missouri said primly, and stood. Sam and Dean leapt to their feet again. Jamie and Catherine stayed seated, both glaring at each other across the room. Missouri ignored her scowling daughters and turned to the boys. Her expression was much softer. "We'll go see what's what tomorrow. Jamie and Catherine will get you some spare pillows and blankets, and you can stay on the sofa. No shoes," she shot at Dean, who looked flustered again.

She made to walk out of the room and then stopped at the door. "And no heading upstairs neither."


	8. Chapter 8

_Oh haii, fellow fanfictioners! Sorry it's been a while - creative juices were focused on uni work, but I'm back and ready to actually do some proper work! ;D This was a chapter I realised I'd forgotten to add in. New chapter heading your way soon, though! I promise. :D_

Jamie couldn't sleep. Her head buzzed angrily, swarming with jagged thoughts, poking insistently at her mind, determined not to let her concentrate on anything else. She stared unseeingly up at the blank beige ceiling, her fingers tapping against her flat exposed stomach, keeping up an anxious rhythm in time to her thoughts. Thoughts that mainly revolved around the one particular beast, the central black entity consuming all other thoughts that could have provided a comforting distraction.

Her death. She was going to die, and she was going to die soon. It was practically a certainty. Sam had seen it. She was always aware of the risk of hunting, the chance that the quarry she pursued might just be strong enough to get the upper hand and kill her first. Much as she liked to pretend this scenario was practically impossible, behind her show of arrogance she was afraid. Afraid for Catherine, afraid for herself. She resented the families that came crawling to them for help; she resented them for willingly sending them into danger, potentially towards their deaths.

She tried to tell herself that he had only seen her be pulled backwards, not actually killed, not for certain. But she knew that was where it would end up. She was a good hunter – she could count the number of times she had been in genuine danger or seriously injured on the fingers of one hand. For something to catch her off guard like that… this thing was powerful. And she wasn't just saying that out of arrogance. Being a half-demon, half-human hybrid gave her a lot of advantages. Illness never touched her. She was stronger than the average human, faster too, with better hearing, better eyesight. Anything that took her down had to be tough.

Thoughts began to pile up, almost materialising in the air like vultures. _How would it happen? Would it torture her first? Playing with her like a toy? Separating her strong limbs from her body, ripping her apart, limb from limb, piece by piece? Would it kill Catherine afterwards? Missouri? The Winchesters?_

She sat up in her bed, slamming her hands against the soft and newly washed duvet underneath her, pushing herself off of the bed. She leaned up with lightening speed to snatch her grey jacket from on top of the wardrobe where it had been carelessly tossed. She sprinted out of her bedroom door, her feet barely skimming the darkly carpeted stairs as she danced downstairs.

Catherine watched from her doorway, her room pitch black, her white face luminescent in the darkness. She didn't make a move to follow her sister, merely watched her disappear down the stairs in a shimmer of black and crimson. She knew precisely what was bothering her sister, what was keeping her awake. It was the same thing keeping Catherine awake.

She contemplated following her sister, to make sure she didn't go out of her way to purposefully get herself in trouble – Jamie had a knack for venting her anger on whatever evil creature should stumble onto her path first – but Catherine knew she wouldn't be able to get through to her. Jamie rarely let anything trouble her for more than a few hours but, when something did manage to break through her thick plates of armour, it consumed her. And undoubtedly, the concern for herself would be second nature to her concern for Missouri and for Catherine. If something was strong enough to kill Jamie, she would not want Missouri anywhere even remotely near to this thing, human and fragile Missouri.

She stepped further back into her bedroom, the ghostly white glow from her porcelain skin fading as she receded further into her room. She sat on her bed and stared at the empty hallway. Already waiting for Jamie to come home.

She ignored the little voice in the back of her head that wondered if she would always be waiting for Jamie to come home.

Jamie didn't bother with shoes. She didn't plan to walk too far. She walked slowly, concentrating on every step, pressing her foot to the cool pavement carefully, planting the ball of her foot first, almost like she was walking on a tightrope. The air was brisk, circling curiously around her as she walked, fluttering on by as it realised she was of no interest for the time being. The only sound she could hear was her own breathing, purposefully paced and rhythmic. She timed her footsteps to the sound of her breath.

And then she wasn't alone anymore.

"What are you doing?"

She turned, taking her time as she twirled slowly on the spot, meeting Sam's worried eyes with a calm expression. She was starting to feel better. The air was clearing out the buzzing in her head, it lightened the ache on her chest. They were still there, but now they did not feel overbearing, like they did in her boxed-in room.

She shrugged casually. Like it wasn't even slightly odd that she was walking along the pavement in a strange hour in the dead of night. "I couldn't sleep," she said, looking back down at the cracks in the pavement, her feet stepping lithely onto unbroken path. She took a dancing step towards him, hopping through the air. She glanced up at him then, one leg hovering in the air. Her expression held no sign of suspicion, of accusation, of her being angry that he was following her. She was merely curious. "What are you doing here?"

Sam blinked a few times, stammering nervously. "I, er…" he barked out a short, weak laugh and looked back at her, a sad smile on his lips. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I thought I might have… scared you earlier."

His words tugged at her memory, at the knowledge that her death could potentially be around the corner, and she could feel a bubble of panic in her chest. Her leg wobbled.

But then she took a deep breath, steadying herself both physically and emotionally. "I was freaked," she admitted reluctantly. Talking about her vulnerabilities with somebody who was still practically a total stranger unnerved her, but she sucked it up. He may have been the person who foresaw something bad happening to her, but he was also the person who told her about it. If he wanted this bad thing to happen, he would have kept it to himself. "But I can't be worrying about my safety when we're in that house. Got Mama and Catherine to watch out for."

Sam's sad smile morphed into a politely confused frown. "Jamie… I didn't see anything bad happening to them, I saw something bad happen to _you_. You should be worrying about yourself too."

Jamie was already shaking her head before he'd finished speaking. "Just because you didn't see something bad happen to them doesn't mean something won't. And I can't take that chance, not with this evil that supposedly inhabits the place." Her expression became harder. "Missouri isn't a hunter. She might know the same amount as any hunter, probably more, but she isn't a hunter, she's not trained. She doesn't know how to deal with these things like… like we do," she smiled at him again, a smile of companionship. Sam felt a small blush bloom in his cheeks at her engaging smile. "And if she's even remotely close to evil, the kind of evil that she says is in there, then you best be damn sure that I am not going to be thinking about myself while that's happening."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but he just didn't have the heart. He could see the fierce love and loyalty in her eyes, had seen it firsthand. There was nothing he could say to change her mind. To be honest, had it been him in this situation, he probably would have been saying the same thing to her.

Still.

"I didn't see me," he blurted out suddenly. She raised her eyebrows, uncomprehending. "In my vision. I didn't see me or Dean… I don't know if that means anything or not, but… we'll stop it. I won't… _we _won't let you get hurt because of us."

Usually, Jamie would have given him her best confident smirk and engaged in flirtatious banter with him, teasingly asking him if he thought they needed protecting. But she was much too blissed out for bantering. And he was determined, she could see that much. He really meant what he said, and that touched her.

She simply gave him a nod, an unspoken thanks, and then frowned again, a thought crossing her mind. She opened her mouth to speak it and then glanced around her. He watched her head snap around, looking suspiciously into the darkened houses, into the pools of black engulfing everything inside it.

"Come on," she said sternly, the dancing movements suddenly stopping as she marched forward, grabbing for his hand as she stalked past. Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, the sudden swirl of nausea in his stomach that accompanied the beginnings of adrenaline surging through him. _Were they in danger_?

They reached Missouri's house quickly, walking briskly to the front door. Jamie shoved Sam inside first and quietly closed the door behind her, locking it as she did so.

Sam stared at her with panicked eyes, wildly beating heart.

She looked back, calmly. "I didn't think this was a conversation that should be had in the open air," she said mysteriously, grabbing his hand again and leading him upstairs. Sam's heart leapt again, not with the fear of danger, but with anxious excitement. Her hand was soft and small in his, so thin and elegant. She was leading him upstairs. Sam tried to squash all of the thoughts that accompanied this, desperately trying to keep the blush from spreading across his cheeks, from making his palms sweat. He hadn't felt like this since Jess. Had Jess even made him feel this way? He couldn't even remember. All he could focus on was the sensation of her hand in his.

They walked past Catherine's room, Jamie staring suspiciously inside to see if her sister was still awake. Sam thought he saw the gleam of Catherine's ice blue eyes from inside the darkness, but Jamie was apparently undisturbed, carrying confidently on to her bedroom. She pushed open the door, not bothering to turn on the light as she led him inside and sat him down on the bed.

Sam couldn't breathe.

Jamie turned on the bedside lamp then, both of them wincing as the sudden brightness burnt at their eyes. She sat down at the top of the bed, a good few feet away from him, and her intention was not to seduce him, Sam realised with a disappointment that felt surprisingly heavy in his chest. She really just wanted to talk.

Her big green eyes were wide and wondrous as they stared into his. "Can I ask you something? About your visions?"

Sam had been nodding eagerly as she began her question; as she finished it, he looked less enthusiastic. "What do you want to know?" he asked cagily, shuffling a little further away from her. Jamie couldn't blame him. After all Missouri instilled into her about not discussing her abilities, she couldn't exactly hold it against Sam when he wanted to do the same thing.

"Have you had these types of visions before?" she asked slowly, unsure of how to begin.

He nodded. He looked upset. "Once before."

"Like with someone getting hurt? Not just some average Joe winning the lottery or something?" she tried a smile, trying to make him feel more comfortable.

It didn't work. "Ah, not exactly, no…" he looked at his hands and didn't say anything for a moment. Jamie was about to apologise for making him feel awkward when he spoke again. "I, saw… my girlfriend… _die_. Days before it happened."

Jamie swallowed. "And did she…?"

Sam nodded. He couldn't speak.

Jamie reached across to him, wrapping her fingers through his and squeezing gently. "Sam, I am so sorry."

He still couldn't speak. He nodded again.

"And you know that, just because you saw it, doesn't mean it was your fault, right?"

This time he couldn't nod.

"Sam," she said, still soft, still patient. "Was this your first vision?" He nodded glumly. "And you'd never heard of anybody having visions like these before?" He shook his head. "Then you are entirely blameless. Every partner has nightmares about something bad happening to their loved ones, don't mean they're all gunna start dying. And if you had absolutely no idea what was going on, how were you meant to stop it?"

He didn't look at her. Jamie cursed herself internally. She'd probably made things worse.

"Hey, I'm sorry," she put her hand on his shoulder. It was a lame gesture, but she didn't know what else to do. "I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't do anything," he said, turning back to her. His face was blank and his voice was gruff. "I just… ah… I hear all of this, and I know it, but I don't…"

"_Know _it," Jamie finished for him. This made sense to her in more ways than he knew. She still hadn't been able to tell herself that their mother leaving wasn't their fault, even though Missouri had told them quite possibly a million times by now.

They shared a smile, for a moment, before Jamie moved on. To territory equally as awkward. "There was something else I'd like to ask you…" she said slowly again, gauging his reaction. He seemed okay to answer. "Was your father… human?"

Sam blinked. He had not been expecting that. "What?"

"Your dad. Human. Yay? Nay?"

"Of course my father was… human, I don't understand," he frowned deeply at her. He didn't seem offended at least. Just very stumped.

"And was he… in control of himself when he and your mom… had you?"

His frown was so deep it looked almost carved onto his face. "What?"

"Was he possessed?" she said simply.

He started shaking his head, bewildered. "Of course he wasn't possessed, what are you talking about?"

She felt a punch of disappointment to her chest. She'd hoped he was like her. Like her and Catherine, since he too had extraordinary gifts. Apparently not.

He opened his mouth to ask her a question, undoubtedly one about where she'd gotten the idea from, when her door opened and Missouri Moseley glowered at a suddenly very meek Sam Winchester. He leapt up from the bed immediately, ripping his hand from Jamie's and stammering nonsense explaining his presence in her room.

"Mmhmm, you just get back downstairs, Sam Winchester," Missouri said, her voice dripping ice. Jamie stared at her mother as Sam edged his way past, turning to give her a wave goodnight before hurriedly zipping down the stairs at Missouri's prompting.

Missouri turned back to her daughter. A daughter with suddenly sad eyes.

"He's not like us, Mama. I was hoping he would be."

Missouri's expression melted and she sank onto the bed next to her daughter, engulfing her in a hug.

On the stairs, Sam Winchester frowned. _Not like us?_


	9. Chapter 9

_So, more lines from '_Home' _again. __Getting to the good stuff soon!_

The car journey over to the Winchesters' former residence was silent, so tense that the slightest clearing of a throat owned the person responsible the hostile glares of the other passengers. No directions needed to be spoken: Catherine reckoned that Dean Winchester knew the way back to his old home instinctively, like he was being helplessly pulled towards it. She wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing for him. By the way that his hands were clenched around the steering wheel, grasping the thick black curve so tightly that his hands were turning white, and by the way that his shoulders were hunched, Catherine could guess that he wasn't looking forward to being reunited with his childhood home. From the little Dean had begrudgingly told about his experiences in that home, Catherine gathered that he was old enough to remember it. Old enough to remember the night that their mother had been killed, whereas Sam had been just a little baby. Any fond memories Dean had of his time in that house would surely be overridden by their mother's death. This visit wasn't going to be even remotely pleasant for him.

Catherine observed her fellow passengers as Dean silently drove, directing the Impala so smoothly that it was more like an extension of his own body, creeping at a reluctant pace towards their destination. Mama-Missouri was glowering into her side view mirror at Sam Winchester, undoubtedly because of the fact that she had found him in Jamie's bedroom at an unfortunate hour of the night last night. Jamie had assured both her sister and her mother that nothing had happened between them, that she had merely been curious about his ability to foresee events and had not wanted to discuss it in the open air, where enemies could have been listening in, invisible. But this did not do much to soothe Missouri. She spent her time in the car glaring suspiciously at Sam, who was desperately trying to keep his head down and his eyes away from Missouri's formidable gaze, and frowning worriedly at Jamie, who was staring listlessly at the outside world streaming past them in a haze of colour.

Even as he tried to avoid Missouri's gaze, Sam had been staring at Jamie, attempting to be subtle about it to not further anger Missouri. The concern in his expression was obvious, but there was something else as well, something more akin to confusion or curiosity. Like he had a question about her that he would very much like to her answer, but wasn't entirely sure how to go about it. He'd turned this curious expression to Catherine once or twice, but had quickly gone back to slyly examining her sister. Catherine was suspicious of him too now, the curious glances he gave the sisters. Did he suspect something? Did he know what they were, did he have an inkling? The idea made Catherine feel uneasy.

Then again, the uneasy feeling in Catherine's stomach might have been caused by Jamie; her sister had been quiet, unusually so, extremely so. Catherine was used to hearing her chat whatever thoughts swam in and out of her head, usually without stopping to think whether they were appropriate or not, but, today, she had barely said a word. Before they'd gotten into the Impala, under the strict supervision of an eagle-eyed Dean, making sure their shoes didn't leave as much as a scuff mark, Catherine had noticed her sister's sombre mood and had quietly asked her if she was alright. Jamie had looked at her with an emotionless expression and had grinned, her eyes twinkling like they always did, and had told her that, as soon as she'd gotten some real food in her as opposed to Missouri's healthy breakfast of egg whites on brown bread, she'd be fine.

Catherine hadn't believed her for a minute.

Not that Jamie would have told her if she was feeling even slightly apprehensive – Jamie was a big believer in not letting others (aside from Missouri, of course) see her vulnerable side. Even her twin sister. Especially her twin sister.

But Catherine worried. Her night's sleep had been uneasy, haunted by visions of an angelic Jamie, her face twisted in a silent scream, being pulled into the black abyss, gone forever. This idea had made Catherine feel so sick she felt empty. A reality without her twin sister seemed too cruel to be possible.

She felt even worse now, as Dean slowed the Impala to a crawl, his olive green eyes fixed on the big white house looming towards them, his square jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might snap it in half. Her stomach squeezed with anxiety and her breathing quickened. _This is the house where my sister might die. Where people have died_. She felt the overwhelming urge to scream at Dean to turn around and drive as far away from this house as possible. This feeling of extreme panic wasn't one she was used to on a hunt. She hated it with a burning passion, and she hated this house too.

Catherine glanced pleadingly at her sister, hoping to get her to see sense. But Jamie had already noticed the child's bike outside, casually discarded on the front lawn. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowed. There was no way Jamie would jeopardise a child's life like that. And neither would Catherine, even if her sister was in danger.

It still didn't mean she'd go racing inside to help.

Dean pulled the car to a halt and, almost before he'd even stopped, Missouri was out of the car, slamming the door shut behind her and power-walking to the front door. Catherine's heart leapt. _Trouble_?

She met Jamie's eyes again and noticed the same panic in her sister's green eyes. They practically climbed over the front seats of the Impala to get out, much to Dean's irritation; Catherine could hear his hiss of barely suppressed agony as Jamie clambered over the seat to get outside, shooting off towards Missouri as soon as she was free. "Mama?" Jamie asked, her voice low. Her body was slightly stooped, hunched into an automatically protective crouch and her eyes didn't stop roaming the scenery around them as they walked. She should have tripped over the bike strewn lazily across the yard, had she not been so hyper aware of everything: she merely danced around it, not changing her body stance even in the slightest.

Behind Catherine, the brothers exchanged a glance, hurrying after Missouri and Jamie.

As they came to the front door, Missouri stopped, quickly tapping on the door with the edge of her knuckles, keeping her face turned towards the door. "Let me do most of the talking," she said. Her lips turned up for a moment then. "And, I say this with love, honey, I really do: try not to say anything, okay?"

Jamie frowned and opened her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by the door opening and a young blonde woman almost slamming into them in her haste to get out of the house, her pretty face lined with worry. She cradled a young boy protectively in her arms. The boy was pale and shaking. Catherine wasn't sure if the boy himself was actually shaking or if the woman was doing that for him.

The woman met Jamie's eyes first, those big green eyes, and instinctively tightened her grip on her son, shifting her weight backwards away from Jamie. She quickly spotted Sam and her relief was evident, although it did nothing to relieve the panic in her eyes, in her trembling arms. "Sam, Dean… what are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was breathless, almost like she'd been hyperventilating.

"Hey, Jenny." Sam's voice was soft, concerned. He'd obviously noticed how freaked she was too. "Erm, these are our friends Missouri," he gestured to Missouri, who smiled warmly at her, the type of smile that suggested comfort and safety. Missouri was good at those. She'd had years of practice. "Catherine and Jamie," he waved his hand at the sisters in front of him. The toddler held in the woman's grasp followed Sam's hand as he introduced the sisters, locking gazes with Catherine in the completely obvious, completely unashamed way that children do. She stared back, offering him a small smile, showing off her well kept pearly white teeth. She earned no such smile back; the child kept staring, eerily unblinkingly. Kids always unnerved Catherine a little.

"If it's not too much trouble," Dean chimed in, in a voice smooth and achingly encouraging, a voice that he undoubtedly had perfected over the years. "We were hoping to show her the old house… y'know…" he gave the woman a purposefully bashful smile, hoping to win her over with his meekness. "For old time's sake."

Jenny smiled shakily, gasping out a breath. Had she been a little calmer, Dean would be right in the door, accepting offers of a hot cup of coffee. "Er, y'know, this isn't a good time," she said, her voice breaking a little. Her eyes glistened. She looked like she might burst into tears at any minute.

Dean frowned. Clearly he was not used to being rumbled. Catherine tried to hide a smirk: he and Jamie were so similar in that respect.

"I'm kind of busy," Jenny said, already backing into her house, one hand on the door ready to shut them out.

Jamie felt a little aggravated. Here they were, only trying to help, and she was trying to shut them out. It was a little rude. "Listen, Jenny," Jamie began, noticing the impatient edge to her tone as she leaned forwards, and not caring even in the slightest. "It's kind of important- ow!" she hissed as Missouri's hand snaked out to slap the back of her head, leaving a familiar stinging pain on the back of Jamie's scalp. She glared at her mother, who glared just as forcefully back. "What did I tell you about not saying anything; give the poor girl a break, can't you see she's upset? I swear to God, she don't ever listen to me when I tell her things for her own good," Missouri appealed directly to Jenny, speaking in the fondly exasperated tone that mothers use when talking about her children. "Forgive my girl, she means well, she's just not the sharpest tool in the shed," she said, smirking a little at the responding glower Jamie gave her, smirking even more at the little grin on Catherine's beautiful face. "But hear me out."

Jenny glanced at Jamie, still pouting at both the slap and the comment. She was wavering already. "About what?" she said cagily, her eyes flickering between the five different faces staring at her.

"About this house." Missouri's words captured her attention; she stared at Missouri, stunned, the quivering in her arms starting to lessen.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. Nobody was convinced by her obliviousness.

"I think you know what I'm talking about," Missouri said softly, not in the way Jamie would have said it, harsh and demanding. Catherine prided herself in being the more compassionate of the two, the sister who had the better way with words. She'd learnt this from Missouri. "You think there's something in this house; something that wants to hurt your family…" Catherine noticed Jenny's attention sharpen. The _maybe I'm not crazy _moment that most people had, when Jamie and Catherine arrived to talk to them.

Missouri squinted at Jenny. "Am I mistaken?" She knew perfectly well she was not. Everyone knew perfectly well that she wasn't.

Jenny opened her mouth to speak, but quickly clamped her lips shut again. She glanced down at the floor and then back at Missouri. Her eyes were watering dangerously. "Who are you?" she asked weakly.

"We're people who can help." The conviction in Missouri's voice was fierce. Catherine noticed Jamie straighten her back proudly and did similar, standing up straighter, looking more hero-like. "We're people who can stop this thing, but you're gunna have to trust us," Missouri paused, smiling like she and Jenny shared a private joke. "Just a little."

Jenny looked at Sam and Dean then, the faces she was already familiar with. And then she looked at Jamie and Catherine. Catherine tilted her chin and looked her straight in the eyes. _I am hero-like. I am trustable_. _I hope so anyway_.

Jenny sighed.


	10. Chapter 10

_I hope everyone's enjoying it so far! Not much action, I know, but everyone who's seen _Home _knows what's coming, so prepare yourselves. Also, quick thank you to people that have reviewed and people that have actually read this - you have no idea how happy it makes me seeing that people actually like this stuff, it makes me smile every single time I read it. So, now, every time you read one of these chapters, you make me smile. You're doing good in the world. :D _

_I also have another idea of a Jamie-Catherine-Dean-Sam extravaganza, but I'll have to see what y'all think of the finished item for this first. Getting way too ahead of myself. :'D_

_Last thing: more _Home _dialogue (actually quite a lot of it this time. I need to really work on my originality. I just suck at dialogue). I don't own any of it, I know, I'm just using it for my own twisted purposes. _

_Enjoy! :)_

"There's a dark energy around here; this room should be the centre of it."

Missouri stepped further into the small room, her hand slightly lifted and facing downwards, like she's constantly about to scan something with her palm. The sisters edged in next, Jamie shoving her way into the room, keeping as close to her mother as Missouri's shadow would. Jamie seemed nervous, twitchy; her green eyes were narrowed, her gaze spearing through every wardrobe, every patch of darkness they came across, just in case the creature lurking in the house somewhere should spring out at them. Her hands were balled in tight fists, her jaw clenched firmly shut, lips pressed into an almost invisible pale line. Catherine wanted to comfort her sister, but she knew that wouldn't happen, not while they were still inside the house. It was strange, almost painful, to see her sister so tightly wound, so on edge. She imagined Sam was experiencing a similar feeling of discomfort: as the group moved further into the room after Missouri, Dean hung back, close to the door, like he was ready to make a run for it as soon as Missouri gave the order. His posture mimicked Jamie's, all hunched and tensed. Catherine suddenly felt a rush of sympathy for Dean – he would all too vividly remember what the house was like, of what it would be like living here and experiencing the terror that Jenny and her family were now experiencing. She stepped back a few paces, pretending to examine the room when, really, she was edging closer to Dean. Their hands brushed, her soft pale fingers glimpsing over his balled-up fists, and she lingered there a few moments, putting her hand on top of his fist, tapping her fingers against his skin. _I'm here_. _I know_.

She moved away after a moment, but not before noticing Dean's face. He looked like he had tears in his eyes, but he swiftly turned his head away from them, gritting his teeth so tightly it looked painful. He didn't unclench his fists, nor did he relax even slightly, but Catherine hoped he felt a little bit comforted, if only a little.

She went back to observing Missouri. Her mother had a troubled look on her face, like she wanted to be sick. Sensing evil never was particularly easy.

"Why?" Sam asked, his voice a little breathless. He most likely couldn't remember anything about his time in the house, but he knew what had happened. He knew his mother had died here.

Jamie's head twitched at the pain in Sam's voice, but she didn't look away from Missouri. Her focus was unnerving.

"This used to be your nursery, Sam," Missouri said, her voice distant, almost dreamlike. She wasn't looking at the room as it presently looked, not anymore; as Missouri turned around, the sisters could see the all too painfully familiar look of far-off concentration on Missouri's face. She was seeing the past, the house how it had been when the Winchesters had lived here. "This is where it all happened," she noted dreamily, turning around again and moving around the room loftily, hovering her hand over the walls.

Sam let out an uneasy breath and glanced upwards. All he could see was the image of his mother, dressed in a long white flowing nightgown, pinned to the ceiling, her stomach ripped open, weeping red, fire swirling all around her, consuming her in a hungry blaze, _oh god…_

The smallest touch at his hand made him glance up, made him snap out of his reverie. He glanced down to stare straight into Jamie's big emerald eyes, full of knowledge, too much knowledge. And sympathy. The hand clamped around his, squeezing gently, and the soulful eyes staring silently up at him allowed him to breathe again. _She's here. It's okay. _He let out another shaky breath, a small and slightly hysterical part of his mind laughingly wondering why it was so much easier to breathe when she was there.

Catherine didn't miss this, but said nothing. Inside, however, she was surprised. Jamie hadn't broken her focus on Missouri, but she had relaxed it. Sam Winchester doesn't know how honoured he should be.

Dean shuffled uncomfortably in the corner, his eyes pinned to the ceiling too. It didn't look like he'd taken a breath in a few moments.

Missouri wandered forwards again, her hand slightly lifted, outstretched in front of her. Jamie took her hand off Sam's, brushing past Dean to briefly rest her hand on his shoulder before walking over to Missouri again. Behind Jamie, Catherine noticed Dean exhale and look at the ground, his tanned face suddenly a sickly pale colour. She frowned and made to move towards him before a beeping sound stopped her. He wasn't about to throw up, he was checking the EMF.

Catherine turned her movement toward Dean into a movement towards her mother. She felt her cheeks flush as she walked. She, for some reason, felt foolish.

Missouri hovered her hand over a dark red plastic phone on the bedside table, keeping it there for a moment before turning. She noticed the EMF in Dean's hands. "That an EMF?" she asked distantly, her eyes not resting on Dean for long, slightly glazed over.

Dean glanced up at her and then back again, giving a quick curt nod. "Yeah." His voice was gruff.

"Amateur…" Missouri noted casually, moving around the room again. She completely missed the dark look that Dean gave her, but Jamie didn't; she caught his eye and grinned at him, a smile that telegraphed her pleasure at not being the source of Missouri's scolding. Dean went back to the EMF, but not before Jamie noticed his small smile. At least she'd made him smile.

Missouri moved to the desk, hovering her hand over the white plastic desktop. Behind her, the EMF began to squeal frantically. The sisters met each other's gaze first, all traces of amusement quickly gone. _Danger?_

"I don't know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but…" Missouri captured their attention again; she had turned to face them, her eyes still distant, not focusing on anything in their present time. "This ain't the thing that took your mom."

The looks on the boys' faces were conflicted. Sam's face was easier to read – the angry disappointment at not being able to finally confront his mother's killer, his girlfriend's killer. Dean just looked surprised. The disappointment at being denied a chance at revenge was heavy, but the relief was just as present. _We aren't ready to fight that thing. We can't do it. Not without Dad._

"Are you sure?" Sam pressed, frowning angrily.

Missouri could only nod.

"How do you know?" Sam insisted. Jamie flashed him a look of concern mingled with a look of warning. _I understand that you wanna find this thing, but don't you get impatient with my mama_.

"It isn't the same energy I felt the last time I was here; it's something different."

"What is it?" Dean asked the question like he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Missouri moved to the walk-in wardrobe, flinging open the white doors and taking a step inside. Catherine noticed Jamie visibly flinch at the tightness of the wardrobe space, how easily Missouri could be attacked inside. "Not it. _Them_. There's more than one spirit in this place."

The Winchesters looked stumped. Dean looked uncomfortable, his eyes flickering around the room, looking for the shadows of the potentially hundreds of ghouls wandering the house. Jamie shuffled from side to side. The news of multiple spectres was not a welcome one.

"What are they doing here?" Dean's voice was hollow.

"They're here because of what happened to your family," Missouri said, her eyes suddenly refocusing on Dean. She stalked out of the wardrobe and stood right in front of him, her big brown eyes troubled. "You see, all those years ago? Real evil came to you, it walked this house," Missouri glanced around again. Jamie noticed a small shudder run over her mother's skin. Missouri could still feel that evil as vividly as if the creature was in the room with them now. "That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes wounds get infected."

Sam shook his head, uncomprehending. "I don't understand…" he said quietly.

"This place is a magnet for paranormal energy," Catherine leapt in before Missouri could answer; she'd been around Missouri long enough to be able to reiterate, almost word for word, what her mother would say. Sam's attention snapped to her, his olive green eyes narrowed in confusion. She looked back over at her mother, who nodded gravely. Missouri glanced over her shoulder and looked around. She was afraid. "It's attracted a poltergeist," she said softly. "A nasty one. And it won't rest until Jenny and her babies are dead."

"You said there was more than one spirit?" Sam asked, his tone getting more and more desperate. Like he wanted his mother's killer to be present.

"There is," Missouri said, barely above a whisper. She looked over at the wardrobe and moved to stand inside again, her movements urgent. "I just can't quite make out the second one." She sounded annoyed. Missouri Moseley was not often stumped.

She walked out of the wardrobe again and looked quickly at her daughters, a quick question of concern. Both nodded back in unison, sternly, like soldiers. Missouri did not miss the military-like bob of their heads and felt a shudder. The idea of her daughters as soldiers made her feel sicker than she could have ever thought.

There was a brief silence, as the Winchesters digested Missouri's verdict. Sam looked confused. Dean now looked determined.

Jamie cleared her throat. "It doesn't matter how many of them there are. They aren't getting what they want. I'm not gunna let anybody die in this fucking house," she paused, glancing meekly at Missouri, waiting for the head slap at her swearing. She grinned triumphantly when nothing happened. "Well, 'cept for probably me, of cour-"

Now Missouri slapped her.

"I swear to God, I will lock you in the car if you start talking like that, you hear me?" Missouri said sternly, glowering up at her considerably taller foster daughter.

"I'm sure I could make that work. Although I don't think people would take too kindly to me driving the car through the fucking wall," Jamie grinned. Catherine hated the carelessness in her sister's smirk. Like she just didn't give a shit about what happened to herself.

"Well, you'd be dead, I don't think you'd much care if people were pissed off about you fucking up their wall."

Catherine's voice came out harder than she meant it to then. Missouri stared at her in shock, Jamie with a carefully blank expression. The Winchesters didn't react. Catherine assumed they were too busy grappling with the news that yet more evil had invaded their first home.

"Don't you make me start slapping you too," Missouri said weakly.

Jamie grinned again. "I'm liking that there are people to dole out the slaps now. Shows I'm not the only one to say fucking stupid things."

"Yeah, but you're still the most likely one to say them," Catherine said, staring at her sister with big hurt blue eyes. Jamie could read how much her joke had hurt Catherine and all of her bitter joy zapped out of her instantly.

It was Dean who broke the next silence.

"How do we kill it?"


	11. Chapter 11

_Sorry for the delay in chapter updating; I may or may not have gone out the last few nights. Case in point: staggering back into my uni house at 8 this morning after being awake for 24 hours+. Not impressed. :D Enjoy, darlings!_

"What is this?"

"Angelica root."

"And what's this?"

"Crossroad dirt."

"And what's this?"

"Van-van oil."

"What's van-van oil?"

"It's what I'm going to use to blind you if you don't stop asking questions."

Jamie pouted across the table at her sister, sulkily pouring holy water equally into two shiny silver flasks as Catherine sorted through all of the ingredients strewn across Jenny's dining table, picking up small bottles not unlike ink bottles and carefully examining darks strands of straw-like wood. Their mother and the Winchesters had gone to escort Jenny and her children out of the house. God knows what they were going to tell her. Jamie had been an advocate of 'If you stay here, I'm not promising you won't die', but Catherine had quickly shot that down, not wanting to frighten the children any more than they already had been. Besides, Jenny was more familiar with the Winchesters than she was with them. And she knew that she and her sister were not exactly the most comforting of people, even when they actually attempted to be.

Well, Catherine tried to be comforting. Jamie preferred to tell them exactly how the situation was, no matter how dire that situation may be, with a cheerful spark to her voice and a bright grin on her face. It was more than a little unnerving.

"Well, how am I supposed to figure out how to use it without knowing what it is?" Jamie countered, delicately running a finger down the spine of her machete, her movements a fond caress. Catherine swore Jamie loved that blade more than she loved most people. Yet another reason why Jamie should not be allowed to try to comfort anyone, ever.

"We _did_ learn what it was."

"No we didn't."

"Yes we did."

"Since when?"

"Since Missouri started teaching us about all of this."

"No she didn't."

"Yes she did."

"I don't remember anything like this."

"You wouldn't."

"And why not?"

"Because you never paid any attention."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"And how would you know?"

"Because I actually paid attention."

Jamie childishly stuck her tongue out at her sister and went back to stroking her machete. It wouldn't do much good against a poltergeist, but it made her feel safer knowing it was here. Of course, she'd had to hide it from Jenny. No doubt the poor woman would have freaked if she'd have seen Jamie striding into view with the huge knife, loudly demanding to know where the monsters were. Especially since they were being left unattended as Jenny had allowed herself to be coerced out of the house for a few hours.

The sisters were silent for a moment before Jamie spoke again.

"You okay?"

Catherine looked up at her in surprise, her hands frozen above the ingredients she was carefully folding into small velvet black bags. "Am I okay?"

"Yeah. Apparently you don't find the idea of me dying as funny as you used to."

Catherine glowered angrily at the table in front of her now, going back to her work with a passionate rage. "Yeah, well, it's not so funny when…" she stopped there, biting her lip and shaking her head, as if she was refusing to finish the sentence.

Jamie finished it for her. Her voice was irritatingly calm. "It's not so funny when some guy has a vision about it happening?"

Catherine gritted her teeth and carried on working. She did not respond.

Jamie sighed. It was so much harder hearing that Catherine had these worries too. It was bad enough that these things were on her mind, swimming around her brain, constantly prodding at the edge of her consciousness to remind her of their existence.

"It's not as if he _actually _saw me fucking die, did he? I just got yanked backwards. For all we know, I tripped on a fucking banana peel."

"Jamie, I'm pretty sure you did not trip on a banana peel."

"How do you know, wasn't your vision."

"Jamie," Catherine stopped again, exasperated, giving her sister a weary look. "Would you be fucking serious for one second, please?"

Jamie dropped all traces of amusement from her features and gave Catherine a level look. "What do you want me to say? You want me to cry, to tell you I'm freaked to all hell that I'm going to die in this house that I'm voluntarily sitting in right now, helping you make these weird little fucking bags? You want me to tell you that I'm not ready to die yet, that I actually kinda like our fucked up little life, even though it is, as previously mentioned, fucked up? Well, shit; yeah, I do feel all those things, but I'm also a hunter. We were going to die eventually in this gig, apparently I'm checking out a bit earlier than planned."

"Oh, shut up, with your _we're all going to die eventually _bullshit," Catherine hissed, and then lowered her voice even more. "You know what we are, you know we aren't the normal bunch of hunters, we are much more than that."

"What, because we're the misfits from the Justice League?"

"That's exactly why we're better than them."

"_Better _than them?"

"You know what I mean. Less kill-able."

"Didn't even know there was a word."

"_My point being_: _we _didn't have to accept this fate that you seem to think befall every hunter, because every hunter doesn't have what we have."

"I have way too many jokes to be able to choose one."

"Our _heritage_," Catherine said the word like it was cursed. She had no affection for the man that had attacked their birth mother, but she wasn't going to sit there and whine about it either. Shit happened, it was awful, but that was then. And they were the consequences.

"Our heritage doesn't make up for everything. If we rely on them too much, we get sloppy. And I like to think not everything I can do is down to Daddy dearest, thank you very fucking much."

"It certainly helps a great fucking deal."

"Okay, so maybe it does. Are you gunna sit there and moan about it?"

Catherine glowered, angry that she had thought this mere moments ago and had forgotten herself. "We've gotten off topic."

"I don't think we were ever _on _topic."

"You're being careless about yourself."

"When am I ever careless?"

"Not about others. You're not being careful enough about your _own _safety. And, by doing that, you're endangering our safety because we'll worry about you hurting yourself."

Jamie opened her mouth to argue, but couldn't find a way around her sister's argument. She flushed angrily, her green eyes crackling electricity, her tanned cheeks turning a blushed red. Catherine raised a thin black eyebrow at her sister, expecting retaliation.

When none came, she smiled triumphantly, her red-painted lips spreading into a genuinely happy smile. "So you'll be careful? For us?"

"I suppose. If you really insist on me not trying to get myself killed."

Catherine studied her sister for a moment, making sure she was serious. But the reluctant surrender was obvious in Jamie's suddenly tired eyes. Catherine beamed. "That's all I ask for."

Missouri re-entered the room then, rubbing her hands together, looking expectantly from sister to sister. Catherine was suddenly struck with the idea that Missouri had given them their space to clear their thoughts, that she had purposefully rejoined them at the moment when Catherine had sworn her sister to sensibility. She couldn't be sure, but she would not have put it passed her mother.

"All done?" she asked Catherine, noting the pile of black bags in front of her eldest daughter, while Jamie lounged carelessly in the chair opposite. Catherine wasn't sure if she was talking about settling her issues with Jamie or the filling of the little black bags, but she nodded and pushed forward the pile. "Good. Now; we gotta get them in each corner of the house, the north, the south, the east and the west corners of each floor."

"Punching holes in the drywall?" Dean asked, lounging in the doorway behind Missouri. "I bet Jenny will love that."

Jamie snorted. "She'll live, won't she?"

"Now, we'll have to spread out; Sam, you take this floor, Jamie and Dean, you take upstairs. Catherine will help me do the basement."

Catherine could tell not many people were too happy with this arrangement: Jamie because she would be separated from Missouri by two whole floors; Dean because his brother would be taking a floor all by himself; and Sam… well, Sam just looked unhappy. Catherine suspected this may have been something to do with Jamie.

"And don't you complain, this is how it's gunna be and that's the end of it," Missouri snapped, glaring at the unhappy faces in front of her. "Now hurry up and get to work, I wanna have the place cleaned up again when Jenny and her kids get back."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean, cleaned up again?"

Missouri gave him a look. "You think those spirits are just gunna let us kick 'em out of here?"


	12. Chapter 12

Jamie stood in the doorway, watching Dean lightly tap the handle of a hammer against the wallpaper, his ear almost shoved up against the floral patterned wall. His eyes were unfocused, his features narrowed into a frown as he listened, waiting for the hollow thud of the hammer against empty wall space. She sighed, slouching even more heavily on the white doorframe, folding her arms and blowing her thick mahogany locks away from her face. She knew exactly where the hollow spot in the wall was, down to its precise location on the wall. It had been obvious a few moments ago, but Dean had been oblivious, moving the hammer further away from the hollow spot, glaring exasperatedly at the wall for not revealing its secrets. She'd tried to help him, tried to point out that he'd missed it, but before she'd even been able to tell him where he'd gone wrong, he'd simply turned around, with a patronising smirk on his handsome face and had told her he'd 'got it'.

Much as Jamie would like to march over to him and point out where the hollow point was, she wouldn't. Because she knew she would then not be able to stop herself from punching a hole through the wall with nothing but her bare fists, just to really show off a little. She wasn't worried about hurting herself – punching a hole through the plaster would be next to nothing in terms of energy – but she could imagine Dean would want to know how she was able to punch a hole through a wall without even breaking a finger.

She sighed again. Off to her right, silent and unseen, even by half demon eyes, the lamp switch prised itself off the wall, the small click of it dislocating itself covered by Dean's curious banging on the wall.

The thin black cable slithered closer to Jamie's feet.

Sam moved the small white coffee jar to the side, his heart thudding uncomfortably as he pushed all of the little objects away from the wall, all of the little homely things, coffee jars and sweet tins and an empty plastic cup of orange juice, casually strewn across the countertop in a childlike manner. He leant further across the countertop, stooping his back and lifting the hammer to the wall, knocking a few times against the blank creamy plaster before slamming the sharp end softly into the wall.

Behind him, silent and unseen, a drawer slid open. Rows of glistening silver cutlery glinted in the low light.

Catherine squinted uncomfortably in the darkness, snapping her head quickly from side to side, glaring accusingly into the blackness. The basement was a bad idea, especially for Missouri to be sifting through; it was much too dark, way too many places to hide, to lurk, to watch. Her chest felt tight, squeezing ever tighter like a vice. She kept glancing towards the door, fighting the urge to throw Missouri over her shoulder and sprint upstairs, to watch over Jamie ever second they were in this house, to make sure that she truly was alright.

But Missouri was venturing further inwards, her torchlight shining earnestly, slicing through the murky basement. Catherine couldn't allow herself to be freaked out now, not when there was a very real chance that the poltergeist could choose to show itself, to stop them.

She gritted her teeth and ghosted after Missouri, her footsteps as light as a whisper.

Missouri reached the corner of the room and bent down, the small black bag clutched tightly in her dark hand. She pushed aside a small bucket, revealing the very corner of the room. She reached down and carefully tossed the bag into the corner.

_Job done_.

Catherine's sigh of relief lasted mere seconds before a sound broke through her concentration, loud and angry, like wood scraping across concrete.

_Exactly like wood scraping across concrete_.

She whirled around, icy blue eyes widening in alarm as the dark chocolate coloured desk flew towards her, almost faster than she could comprehend.

No, not towards her… towards _Missouri_.

Missouri barely had enough time to register her surprise, to open her mouth in a shriek of alarm.

The desk crashed forwards.

Sam leaned forward, the little black bag in his trembling hand shivering slightly. He pushed it into the small hole now gaping open in the white wall and nudged it forwards, letting it roll slowly into the wall cavity.

A faint scream reached his ears. He froze, olive green eyes narrowed in sudden fear, adrenaline beginning to pulse in his veins. _Who was that_?

And then a more immediate noise reached his ears. The sound of a knife being unsheathed.

He turned around, frowning deeply. _Jamie_?

A flash of silver sped towards his face, its knife point aimed directly for the centre of his forehead.

Jamie almost felt like cheering when Dean finally rediscovered the hollow spot in the wall. She tried to keep her face straight as he turned to look at her with a triumphant smirk on his full lips.

A grin that disappeared as suddenly as it had sprung, replaced by a gape of horror.

"Jamie, look out!" he roared, preparing to uncoil himself from his sitting position and leap up to help her. Jamie looked down, confused as to where his focus was.

The black cable sprang for her neck.

Sam ducked behind Jenny's kitchen table, kicking at its legs and pulling it down to provide cover, flinching and shouting in unintelligible shock as more knives buried themselves in the thick wood, trying to pierce through, to reach him. He gasped out a few breaths, panting heavily, waiting for the next knife to leap out of the drawer and sing through the air towards him.

_The poltergeist… Dean… Jamie…_

Sam couldn't physically wait any longer; he rolled out from behind the table, grunting and shouting more wordless gasps as another knife sliced towards him, burying itself in one of the counters behind him.

Scrambling to his feet, he pushed himself off of the floor and out of the door, his feet thumping hard and fast as he tore up the stairs, almost slamming into the windowsill as he reached the top. He could hear breathless gasps and groans coming from behind him. He spun around and ran to the end of the corridor, turning the corner to see Dean collapsed on the floor, a thin black electrical cable wound tightly around his neck, so tightly that Dean's eyes were almost popping out of his face, that he had turned an alarming shade of red.

"_**Dean**_!" Sam raced forward and skidded onto his knees, worming his fingers under the cable and pulling as hard as he could, yanking with all his strength at the small black wire. It was impossible, impossibly strong; Sam pulled a few more times, desperately trying to free his brother, but it wasn't working. The cable was too strong and Dean was quickly losing consciousness.

He was running out of time.

"_**Sam**_!" Jamie's scream tore through him, terrible and beautiful at the same time; the fact she was screaming meant that she was still alive. For the meantime.

He whirled around, his already wide eyes bugging out of his head as he noticed Jamie grappling with multiple cables. A large white cable had wrapped itself around her leg, ripping away the dark blue denim jeans she was wearing, revealing her smoothly tanned legs underneath; she held another black cable at bay in both of her hands, her face twisted with exertion at keeping it away, all of her strength pumped into holding it back. Sam allowed himself to marvel at her strength for a moment before their eyes met. Hers were determined, green fire.

In a lightening fast movement, she sacrificed the use of one of her hands, snaking it downwards to grasp the small black bag that was now at her feet. "_**Do it**_!" she commanded, her voice cut off in a gurgle as the black cable coiled around her throat. She threw the bag to him gracefully, even with the black cable quickly cutting off her supply of oxygen. Sam caught it and slid to his knees past his brother, whose eyelids were fluttering with a worrying manic energy, and threw the black bag into the cavity in the wall.

The room filled with a throbbing electric blue energy for a brief moment. Sam threw his hands over his eyes.

And then it disappeared, the white-blue seeping out of the room, leaving the room the same colour as it had been before.

The cables dropped away from Dean and Jamie's necks; their deep gasps for breath were all Sam could hear for a few moments, along with their frantic coughing, rubbing their hands over their aching throats.

Sam shuffled back over to Dean, his hands on his brother's shoulders. "You okay?"

Dean could only nod, rasping out shallow breaths, his face pale and white. "Jamie?" he said hoarsely, trying to turn around to see her, his head spinning dizzyingly as a result. Sam steadied him. "She's okay," Sam answered for her, not looking away from Dean's face.

"Says you," Jamie said, her rasping chuckle quickly turning into a hacking cough. She winced as she did so, rubbing her throat again. Sam looked over at her then worriedly; she was collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. Her tanned face was as ghostly pale as Dean's was, colour only now beginning to seep back in. She met Sam's concerned gaze and gave a curt nod, a soldier's nod. _I'm fine._

And then her expression changed. "_Catherine_," she hissed, scrambling up from her sprawled position on the floor and lurching towards the door, having to grasp the walls for support. Sam started to go after her, just in case, and glanced to check on Dean again.

His brother was looking up at him with a hint of a smug smirk in his twinkling olive green eyes. "Go after her, I'll be fine."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. He nodded and stood up, jogging briskly towards the door, speeding up as he saw Jamie staggering down the corridor, almost tripping over herself in her haste to check on her family. She reached the end of the corridor and swayed, her knees trembling like she was about to collapse. Sam swept an arm behind her back and steadied her, stooping down so that their faces were on a more even level. Her hair glinted a blood red in the orange corridor light, smelling vaguely of something tangy, something fruity. He could feel her bare arm under his palm, flawlessly soft, wondrously smooth.

He spoke after a moment. "Are you okay?"

"Sam, I'm fine, I have to check on Catherine," she said briskly, trying weakly to push herself from out of Sam's arms. He was more muscled than she had originally thought, his bare arms strong and well built. They made her feel safe, protected. She wasn't sure if this was a feeling she liked.

"The poltergeist is gone, they'll be fine," Sam said soothingly, but she still didn't believe him. _How could he be sure? He'd seen his family was alright._

"Jamie!"

Catherine's voice hit Jamie like a wave of relief, and she sagged a little in Sam's arms, relieved beyond measure to hear her sister's voice so light and so unhurt. Sam tightened his grasp a little in response.

Jamie glowered down the stairs at her sister, staring with wide curious eyes up at Sam and herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sam's blush, but she didn't push herself away from him. "You gave me a fucking heart attack, you bitch. Coulda said you were okay."

Catherine sniffed, grinning. "I thought that's what I was doing now?"

Jamie narrowed her eyes, and then widened them again. "Missouri?"

"I'm fine," Missouri said, appearing from behind Catherine. "Nothing I can't handle," she grinned for a moment and then peered anxiously up at Jamie. "Y'all okay up there?"

"Nothing we can't handle," Jamie replied, rubbing her neck subconsciously. Missouri's eyes followed the movement and frowned accusingly up at her daughter. "Just the usual," Jamie brushed off her concern with a casual grin. "Inanimate objects trying to kill me."

"Inanimate objects?" Catherine echoed.

"Cables."

"Ah. We had flying desks."

"Get out, that sounds much more interesting."

"You should see the kitchen. Sam was playing with knives, from the looks of things."

Jamie glanced curiously up at Sam, who was smiling and shaking his head fondly.

"So the kitchen's fucked up? Sorry, Mama."

"I'll be the one throwing desks if you keep using that language."

"Majorly messed up," Catherine answered, biting down on a grin. "It any better up there?"

"Aside from the holes in the walls, it's like we were never even here."

"Aside from the huge, gaping holes in the walls?"

"Naturally."

Catherine looked at Missouri. And Missouri stared calmly back. Catherine sighed. "We're cleaning this up, aren't we?"

"I don't know what you mean by '_we'_, child."

"You sure this is over?" Sam asked, cutting in with a tensed tone. When Jamie looked back at him, his eyes were restless, moving about the house like he still expected the poltergeist to pop up and start throwing the kitchen sink at them. She felt a flutter of anxiety bloom in her stomach. _Can he tell if it's still here_?

"I'm sure…" Missouri said, staring up at Sam with an indecipherable expression in her eyes. "Why? Why do you ask?"

Now Sam stepped away from Jamie, only slightly, but enough so that Missouri would notice. Her stare was fierce. He shook his head a few times and glanced at the floor. "Ah, never mind," he said, running a hand through his hair and frowning at the floor. "It's nothing, I guess."

Jamie looked back at her mother and the expression she saw there unnerved her.

The sound of the front door opening made them all flinch. "Hello? Anybody home?... What happened?"

"Mama?" Jamie smiled sheepishly. "Maybe you should go explain?"

"Maybe you should start clearing things up," Missouri fired back, enjoying the look of panic on her daughter's face before she trudged over to Jenny. "My daughters are just cleaning everything up for y'all now…"

Catherine and Jamie met each other's gaze. "What's the bet I can make you do the cleaning up?"

"More fast food?"

"… Damn, you know me too well."


	13. Chapter 13

_Hi everyone! I'd forgotten how much fun it is writing this stuff; so much so that I'm awake at twenty-to-three, and physically couldn't let myself go to sleep without finishing the chapter. I feel guilty for neglecting this for so long, and I am making up for it in the next few days, fo' sho! :) Only a couple more chapters left, and then I'll be moving Jamie, Catherine and our beloved Winchesters off into another tale. I'm very much looking forward to writing the next one, as well - this one's been fantastic, for letting me introduce Catherine and Jamie to you all (and hope that you love them as much as I have grown to :D) and the next one has to live up to it. :)_

_As always, leave reviews, comments, etc, etc. Also, since I'm writing this for you guys, if y'all have any suggestions for themes you want to see my Awesome Foursome participate in, let me know. :)_

_PEACE OUT, BABES._

"I don't know if you noticed: but we look a little like we're going to burgle someone."

"Even with the junk food?"

"Well, then we're exceptionally polite burglars."

At this, Sam turned his head, a frown wrinkled above his eyes and a bemused smile on his face as he glanced at Jamie; her face was totally smooth, politely disinterested as she twirled a paper straw around the edges of her drink, stirring with a calm flick of her wrist. A sign that Sam recognised well in hunters – how they could be staking out a site of a possible monster attack in the dead of night, and yet, they could still act like they were sitting in a coffee shop in the middle of the day. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about their nonchalance towards such a potentially horrifying event, but it was definitely preferable to them all brooding silently, worrying. "How so?" he asked, enjoying himself for a moment. Angry, doubting thoughts had been eating at him with an increased ferociousness, jabbing at his consciousness as soon as he tried to distract himself, like they refused to be ignored. He forced them to the back of his mind again now, as he stared at Jamie with a determined concentration much too intense for their casual conversation.

Jamie continued stirring her soda, pausing every few seconds to prod at a floating piece of ice, a little irritated frown forming above her eyes as she prodded away. "Well, if we were about to go in and burgle some poor nice undeservin' folks, this way, we wouldn't have to go about stealing their food as well as their expensive items."

Sam stared at her for a few minutes, unsure as to whether or not he should laugh. The utter sincerity on her face stopped him from howling with laughter. That, and his snoozing brother and her dozing sister in the back seat. Usually, he wouldn't give a shit about waking Dean up abruptly from a nap, especially when they were scoping somewhere out; Dean's bad mood was unfortunately not in the least bit intimidating to Sam, who happened to find his brother's surly waking demeanour hilarious. But, in this case, with Catherine nestled against Dean's side - her jet black hair tumbling over his body like spilled ink, her red lips pushed into an unconscious pout – he didn't want to disturb her sleep. She'd been watching Jamie all day like a hawk, like a hawk who knows something awful is about to happen to a beloved family member. Sam was frankly surprised she'd managed to stay awake as long as she had done.

"It's just more of an insult, really," Jamie was saying, staring absentmindedly out of the window, keeping up her steady stirring rhythm. "Like it's not enough of an insult that we'd be stealing all your shit, but then we'd also be eating all your food and making a mess in your kitchen. That's just fucking awful."

Sam eyed her suspiciously. "Are you high?"

She met his eyes now, flashing him a grin that made her eyes crease into thin lines of sparkling emerald. She stuck her tongue out at him and then wound down the window, shaking the soda cup hard. The rattle of ice against the paper was surprisingly loud, loud enough to cause Dean to stir, his square face twisting in exhaustion. He began to move, shuffling over, and then appeared to notice Catherine's weight against his side; even in his unconsciousness, he was still able to loop an arm around Catherine's thin shoulders, pulling her against his torso and resting his hand on her waist.

Neither Jamie nor Sam missed the look of contentment on his face as he re-settled down again. Jamie glowered, fishing a piece of rapidly melting ice out of her cup and tossing it between her hands, her narrowed green gaze fixed on Dean.

"If he didn't look so ridiculously fucking peaceful…" Jamie said slowly, meeting Sam's gaze again: the mischievous grin on her face then made Sam's heart thud eagerly against his ribcage. She then threw both the ice and the cup out of her window, her eyes suddenly as wide and as round as plates as she looked back at Sam, an overly dramatic expression of innocence. She fluttered her eyelashes at him a few times and he laughed hoarsely, his heartbeat hammering even harder. _Goddamn_.

"So, not just stealing food, but littering as well?" he teased, feigning a disapproving tone. She shrugged, still grinning.

"Maybe that'll be my calling card. You'll know I've stolen your shit if your food's all gone and there's garbage all over the fucking floor."

Sam had to laugh then, turning it into a low growling chuckle as he tried to keep his voice down. "Well, I'm glad you're a hunter and not a thief."

"So are a lot of people."

They were silent for a few moments, quietly listening to Dean's heavy breathing.

"Hey." Jamie's voice was a lot quieter this time, more thoughtful. "Why do you think there's still something here?"

Sam didn't respond for a few moments, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Jenny's sleeping house. Was '_a feeling_' adequate enough an explanation? He couldn't even explain it to himself, but… every time he contemplated going back to the motel, or back to Missouri's, or quitting town all together, he felt physically ill. Like it was completely and utterly wrong. And a feeling like that didn't just occur for any reason; it had to be with this house and this poltergeist.

He relayed all this to Jamie, all the while feeling his face heat up. He wasn't used to revealing this much to anyone, much less to a woman who was… well. They weren't really complete strangers any more, he supposed, but it was still against his nature, that hunter code, to reveal much about yourself so personally.

She was silent for a few minutes after he'd finished speaking, processing the information. And then she looked at him with eyes that showed a surprising amount of understanding. _He's not like us, Mama. I was hoping he would be_. Sam remembered the words she'd spoken the other night to Missouri, when she hadn't known he'd been listening. Could she understand more than he thought?

This idea made him feel so hopeful he felt sick.

"This'll be when it occurs, though, won't it? Your vision. My death."

She said it so bluntly, so mechanically, she sounded like an automated voice. Sam felt a little disappointed. For some reason, he'd hoped for some immense confession, for some admittance that she too was not entirely human, like he suspected he was. He needed to hear it from someone else; he needed to know he wasn't alone.

"This is where my vision happened, yeah," he said quietly. _Not your death. You're not dying today, I won't allow it_.

"I did wonder," Jamie said dazedly. "I didn't feel nearly enough threatened earlier; if that had been when and how I died; I would have been one severely pissed-off spirit."

"Not challenging enough?" Sam asked, an injection of sarcasm zinging in his tone.

"Not really," she said, shooting him a grin. A smile, he noticed, lacking in her usual warmth. "I like to think I'm a little better than being killed by a possessed electricity cable. Actually, I think I'm better than being killed by a poltergeist, but it's still better than a possessed electricity cable."

"So, how good are you?" The words were out of Sam's mouth before he could piece together the innuendo behind it. By the time he'd figured it out and his mouth had dropped open in a horrified 'O' of embarrassment, Jamie had her hand jammed into her mouth, shaking with laughter that she was desperately trying to keep quiet so as to avoid waking up the sleeping pair in the back. She put her other hand to her mouth and cupped her hands around her lips, inhaling hysterical gasps of laughter. Sam's face flushed bright red and he tried to laugh it off too, awkward chuckles of embarrassment. _Being killed by a possessed electricity cable is still probably preferable to this embarrassment_.

Jamie pulled herself together and grinned at him, her eyes sparkling once more. "Oh, I'm very good," she drawled, cocking a dark eyebrow mischievously, a slow sexy smile spreading across her lips. Sam swallowed hard, struggling to control himself. _Supposed to be on watch! Your brother and her sister are in the back seat!_

Feeling her eyes still on him, and the embarrassment still hot on his face, Sam blurted out words to desperately change the subject, to a safer topic: a topic that didn't flood his mind with images of her half naked, her lips on his, her lithe body pressed against his, wrapped around him…

Unfortunately, those words were "What did you mean, I'm not like you?"

And instantly, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Her face shut down, every trace of warmth and of interest zapped clean out of her in a second. The emeralds in her dark eyes hardened, turning to stones. Her lips jammed themselves together eagerly, forming a thin line. This was the face of an interrogator, of a police officer, a soldier. A warrior. This wasn't the same reaction she'd had when they first met. This was infinitely more hostile, and infinitely more terrifying to behold.

"What did you just say?" Even her voice had changed. Cold, emotionless, as brittle and as unforgiving as ice. Sam flinched to hear it, grimaced to know it was directed at him.

"I… I heard you say it to Missouri, and I thought…" he paused, forcing himself to look at her. It felt like an arrow directly into his heart to see her looking at him with such suspicion, like he was a traitor waiting to learn her secrets, to sell them to evil. "_I'd _hoped you were like me."

"In what way do you think we're like you?"

"In that you've got some sort of mind thing too! That I'm not the only one going through this insanity right now! I just wanted to know I'm not totally alone, that there's somebody else like me out there too!"

Her expression did not soften, not even a little. Her eyes appraised him like she suspected he was about to strike.

"Is that what you're here for? To see if we're like you, to see if we've got abilities like you?"

"No!" Sam almost shouted. "I'm here because of my vision, because of what's happening in this house!"

"Could easily have just been a lucky coincidence for you. An alibi for you to scope us out."

Sam started to reach towards her, to put his hands on her shoulders and shake her, to tell her the idea that he was sent to gain her trust and then betray her made him feel even more nauseous than the idea of skipping town. But he could see her expression. She'd snap his hands in two if he even came close to touching her, even if in comfort.

Instead, he met her gaze, trying to be calm. "Do you honestly think that's why I'm here? That we'd be capable of that?" His voice shook as he spoke. He prayed she didn't mistake that for fear that he'd been caught out.

Jamie studied him for a few moments. Her expression still didn't change.

And then her eyes flickered behind him.

_The house_.

"We've got trouble!" she roared, kicking open the Impala door and slamming her hands down on the roof. She repeated her cry as Dean and Catherine awoke with a jolt, as Sam swivelled around to stare at Jenny's house.

At Jenny, pressed against the window, screaming desperately, staring right at them.

_The vision_.

"Go!" Dean shouted.

All four of them raced towards the house.


	14. Chapter 14

_So very nearly close to the finish, kids! Thanks to everyone who stuck along for the ride. :) _

_Enjoy!_

Jamie reached the house first: her feet had seemingly barely touched the ground as she had sprinted to the front door, gliding rather than running. Her face was smoothed into a blank expression, an expression Catherine recognised instinctively as her battle face – eyes alert, almost unblinking, more precise than a hawk's, her back curved slightly into a protective crouch, her hands curled into fists that would be harder than a brick. Seeing her sister in battle had always frightened Catherine, though she would never admit to her sister's face – the image of her sister's grinning, teasing face was enough to stop Catherine from ever revealing this thought. But there was something about the way her sister moved – so swiftly, so precisely – that she barely looked human. Instead, she looked like a robot, a Terminator.

At that moment, though, Catherine preferred her sister to look like a Terminator. She looked indestructible. No poltergeist could take her down, the way she was now, the idea seemed almost laughable. Catherine could feel the corners of her mouth twitch, and she had to force down the urge to grin like a demented ghoul. She wondered if she was slightly hysterical. _Your sister could die now. Jamie could die, you know_.

"Dean, Sam, you grab Jenny, we'll get the kids, now _**GO**_!"

The sound of the door being kicked down, a sick snapping sound under Jamie's tremendous heel, and her sister's voice, barking out commands like a military general, snapped Catherine out of her hysteria. _She's not dead, she's not going to die, and there are people's lives at risk. Snap out of it_.

As soon as the orders were given, Jamie took off, a bolt of fiery red in the blackness; her hair glinted off of the thin streams of silver moonlight sneaking through the gaps in the curtains ahead of them. She was almost a blur, she was so fast.

She pushed past Dean, roughly shoving him aside as she tore up the stairs after her sister. Catherine barely hear her footsteps hitting the hard wood, just a faint tapping sound as the ball of her sneakered foot hit the step. She didn't even need to breathe hard as she ran; her breath was as steady as if she were taking a leisurely stroll.

She reached the top of the stairs and turned to follow her sister when a scream stopped her in her tracks. _Jenny_.

_Dean's taking care of her, follow Jamie!_

Catherine gritted her teeth and lurched after her sister, her stomach curdling with nausea as she turned her back on Jenny's room. If she hadn't been able to hear Dean lumbering up the stairs after her, shouting to Jenny for reassurance, Catherine would have swivelled around and slammed through Jenny's door herself. Hearing the shrieks of a person crying out for help and turning your back on them was too sickening for Catherine to comprehend for too long.

_Jenny's okay, Sam and Dean have got her, focus on the kids_!

She turned the corner in time to see Jamie stumble out of the boy's room, his small body wrapped around her upper half, his small arms circled so tightly around her neck Catherine was wondering how her sister was able to breathe.

Halfway down the corridor, Jamie turned her body slightly and aimed a kick at the door to her right. The door flew off its hinges, falling to the ground with a rumbling crash.

"Take him!" Jamie demanded, prising the boy's hands off of her neck and almost throwing him at Catherine. He nestled willingly against Catherine's body, his tiny form trembling with fear as he buried his face into her silky black hair. He was making faint whimpering noises, snuffling into her chest. She whispered generic comforting sentiments to him, her eyes and body constantly turning, looking out for a sign of danger.

"What the fuck!" Jamie roared from inside the room, her voice a high pitched yelp.

_NonononononoNO_.

Ignoring the child in her arms, Catherine started forwards, her heart suddenly encased in ice, ice shooting through her veins. _Nononononononono-_

Jamie leapt out of the room then, the girl clinging to her back like a spider monkey. Her eyes were wild. "Get the fuck out, go go go!" she thundered, giving Catherine's back a series of vigorous shoves as she tried to get past.

Behind her, Catherine could see a figure on fire, walking patiently towards them.

_Holy shit_.

Catherine began running before she'd even turned, almost tripping over herself as she ran. She'd never done too well with ghosts and the spirit side of hunting. Physical bodies, like demons and vampires and werewolves and all that noise, she was as cool as a cucumber. But ghosts freaked her out. Dead people, still gliding around, pointlessly, forever and ever and ever, with no purpose or passion or direction.

She imagined it to be something akin to Hell. Or, indeed, Hell itself.

With the boy sobbing in her arms and her sister shrieking a constant barrage of "GO, GO, GO" behind her, Catherine felt like her heart was going to explode. Her pulse beat a tattoo against her skin as she tumbled down the stairs, her feet moving so fast she didn't even feel in control of them anymore.

She didn't even hear Jamie stop behind her.

Not until the boy in her arms peeked over her shoulder and screamed, jabbing a finger in her direction.

Catherine turned.

The girl came running past her legs, brushing against her as she ran, almost blinded with tears, out of the house. The boy in her arms squirmed, eager to get away.

Catherine stared.

Jamie stared back.

"Catherine," she said, her lips spread into a sad half-smile.

Something slammed into Catherine's chest, sending her flying backwards, out of the house, onto the grass before she even registered she was airborne. Her back hit the ground with a thud, sending a shivering ache through her spine. The boy in her arms was screaming and his mother was screaming, trying to pull him free from Catherine's arms to see if he was hurt. Catherine stared at her face for a few moments, at her messy blonde hair and her tear-streaked face before registering that she was hysterically clawing at Catherine's arms, trying to get to her boy through Catherine's iron-tight grip. Stunned, she released him, letting him scramble off of her body and throw himself at his mother. She wept anew, stroking his hair and gathering his sister to her, the three of them a disgustingly happily relieved family reunion.

_Jamie_.

She looked at the front door.

At the closed front door.

"_**NO**_." The scream leapt out of her, tore its way out of her throat like a feral screech. It burned her throat.

She scrambled up, her fingernails digging into the grass as she rose. Dean made a grab for her, to calm her down, but she could not be calm, he could not ask her to be calm. His fingers closed around her wrist and she turned, slamming her palm into his chest with a force that she had not meant to put into it. He flew off his feet, his brown eyes open in alarm, and landed in a sprawl a few feet away from her.

She didn't bother to check if he was alright.

She heard Sam shout his name and then footsteps right on her heel.

But she was too fast.

She levelled a kick at the door, funnelling all of her energy into it. She could feel energy keeping the door in place; the poltergeist clearly didn't want anybody coming back in here.

But it was still no match for a severely frantic half-demon.

The door snapped off its hinges, toppling to the floor slowly, dramatically.

Catherine had leapt over the door before it had even hit the floor.

She ran through the house, not knowing where she was going. The kitchen was still a mess, an _empty _mess more importantly, as was the dining room. All passed by in a blur, in a second. _Where are you, Jamie, what the fuck is it doing to you?_

A crash off to her left made Catherine skid to a halt and turn back in the opposite direction. "_**Jamie**_!" she screamed, shoulder-barging her way through doors that were unfortunate to be in the way. She was about to ready to break down the walls if she had to.

She burst through another door, whipping her head around frantically.

Jamie was propped against the wall directly opposite Catherine, her blood-red head lolled against her chest. Her arms were covered in cuts, glass still dug into her flesh from where she'd collided with the glass cabinet that was now slumped on the floor to Jamie's right.

_She looks dead_.

Catherine stumbled forward, her whole body going numb. She couldn't breathe.

Jamie's head moved, pulled upwards, and her sister's familiar green eyes, her sparkling _alive _green eyes, were looking directly at her. She looked beat to shit, but she was still alive.

"And how are you?" Jamie asked, a small exhausted smirk on her lips.

At that moment, Catherine was torn between the twin urges to slap her and kiss her.

Instead, she staggered over to her sister, falling to her knees beside her and pressing her hands against her face, her beautiful cut face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Jamie brushed off her concern, trying to pull herself upright. She grasped Catherine's shoulder and hauled herself up, leaning more than a little on Catherine. "Had a fight with a cabinet. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Is it still here? The poltergeist?"

"I should imagine so. It's probably gone to find the kitchen sink, it's the only other thing it's got left to fucking throw at me."

Catherine barked out an exasperated laugh. "Will you shut the fuck up and help me get your ass out of here?"

"_**Move**_!" Jamie shrieked, pushing her sister to the side and holding up her palm, just in time to stop the table from hitting her face.

Catherine pulled herself to her feet and stared.

The table was hovering in mid-air in front of Jamie's face, suspended by nothing, floating. Jamie's face was strained, reddening with effort as she struggled to keep the table aloft.

Catherine stared, open-mouthed.

"I know what you're about to ask, but can we please fucking save it until we're not dodging flying fucking tables, please?" Jamie grunted. She dropped her hand and the table dropped too, thumping obediently to the floor. Jamie leant back against the wall, breathing heavily.

Catherine continued to stare.

"Sis, I swear to God, you don't stop fucking swearing, I'm leaving you here with the poltergeist."

Catherine was still staring as Sam and Dean burst into the room, nearly tripping over themselves and the broken door. A shotgun hung at Dean's side, an axe at Sam's. Dean glowered suspiciously at Catherine, a look she barely even registered, and then walked over to Jamie, dropping the gun to the floor next to her and putting his hands on either side of her face. Catherine fought the strangely violent urge to push him off of her. "You okay? Are you hurt?" he asked, examining her head, his thumb stroking her cheekbones worriedly. Sam peeked over his shoulder and noted her arms, her wide brown eyes growing even wider at the sight of the glass. "Dean, her arms," he snapped, tossing the axe carelessly away from him and holding her wrist in his hand, his touch as light as a feather. Catherine suddenly felt excluded from their little gathering.

"Guys, I'm fine, we got work to d-" Jamie started. Her eyes skimmed over Dean's shoulder and her mouth dropped open. "_**Guys**_!" she bellowed, pushing Dean behind her, positioning herself right in front of him, preparing to defend him.

The figurer on fire paced into the room, moving with a haunting grace.

Jamie raised one arm and, with her free hand, she pulled out a thin silver dagger, the tip glistening like it was coated in poison.

Maybe it was Catherine's imagination, but she thought she saw blue sparks tickle the edges of Jamie's fingertips.

"_**Wait**_!" Sam shouted, grabbing her arm. His hand touched glass and Jamie winced, almost dropping her arm in response. "_**I know who it is**_!" he said, his voice suddenly quiet, awed.

The flaming figure burned brighter, almost a white flame. Catherine's eyes stung.

"I can see her now," Sam whispered.

The burning grew brighter and brighter and brighter and –

Stopped.

In its place was a woman. A blonde woman, clad in a simple white nightgown that stopped at her calves. She was beautiful, pale flawless skin and blue eyes the colour of the sky.

Catherine's breath stopped.

_Mom?_

"Mom," Dean whispered.

Catherine spun around to stare at him, noticing Jamie doing the same thing. Her sister's face was pale, almost as pale as the woman before them. Catherine knew the same thought – that this was _their _mother – had run through Jamie's mind too.

The woman – _Mother Winchester_ – smiled, a smile full of kindness and warmth. A mother's smile. Dean couldn't breathe. Sam couldn't breathe. His mother. _His mother_. The first time he met her, and she's a ghost.

The woman approached Jamie, approached Dean. He slithered past Jamie, almost shoving her out of the way in his eagerness to reach his mother. A disbelieving smile lit his lips.

"Dean," she pronounced clearly.

Dean's legs trembled a little. Jamie feared he was going to sink.

Mother Winchester smiled widely, showing pearly white teeth. Her hand moved upwards and Catherine thought she was moving to touch her son. Catherine wondered if that was humanly possible.

Her arm lowered again and she moved past Dean, moving loftily, just like Catherine imagined a ghost should walk – like a dancer. She approached Sam, ignoring the two girls all together. Instead of looking at the woman, Jamie looked at Sam. The joy on his face made her want to cry.

"Sam," Mother Winchester acknowledged, that warm smile spreading across her lips again. Sam let out a gasping breath, his eyes glistening. He breathed out a laugh, not taking his eyes from his mother for a second.

And then she frowned. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, staring back at her son with the same intensity that he was giving her.

Sam mimicked her expression. The pair of them looked so eerily alike at that moment, like the light and dark sides of the same person. "For what?" he whispered, his voice shaking. His whole body was shaking.

Mother Winchester didn't respond. She merely stared, studying her son's features with concern. A vague flare of jealousy sparked in Dean, but it was quickly snuffed out. _Mom_.

She stepped backwards, moving with the frightening quickness that the dead possess. Her head snapped upwards and her beautiful blue eyes glared angrily at the ceiling. Jamie and Catherine followed her gaze curiously. Sam and Dean continued to stare at their mother. They couldn't physically tear their eyes away from her.

"You, get out of my house," she said with quiet force. She paused for a second, to look back over her shoulder. But not at her boys. She met Jamie's eyes then, studying the younger woman's face with a curious look. Jamie stared back, confused.

Mother Winchester nodded at her. A look that only a mother could give. _Take care of my boys_.

Jamie felt a rush of affection for this woman she didn't know. But she nodded back, clenching her jaw as she did so to stop herself from tearing up.

Mother Winchester turned back to the ceiling. "And stop throwing things at Jamie."

The flames started again, engulfing her small frame in a white blaze. Dean lurched forward, as if to save her from the flames, but Jamie grabbed his arm, squeezing his arm tightly. He looked quickly back at her, in surprise, like he didn't even know she was there, before he looked back at his mother.

The flames exploded then, spreading in a mushroom cloud up to the ceiling, spreading across the plain white plaster for a few seconds before disappearing.

Mother Winchester had disappeared along with it.

There was silence for a few moments.

And then Sam spoke.

"Now it's over."


	15. Chapter 15

"Now it's over," Catherine announced with a sigh. She slumped carefully against the chipped grey SUV next to Jamie, folding her already slightly sunburnt arms across her chest and squinting up at her sister. Thick black sunglasses covered Jamie's face, currently slightly marred by several cuts and scrapes made by the poltergeist's target practice session, and she had an extra large soda cup dangling between her fingers, beads of sweat already dripping down the sides of the multi coloured paper.

"I suppose I should be worried that takeout food was your first priority, but I think I'd be worried if it wasn't," Catherine grinned, nudging her sister's side lightly. Her sister's golden brown skin was dotted with bruises, like a constellation pattern along her arm. Jamie had been hurt worse than this before, Catherine shuddered internally to recall, but this time felt different for some reason. Almost like she'd conquered death itself. Catherine had been treating her almost like a _regular _injured human being, something that greatly disgruntled Jamie – whenever one of them got hurt on a job, if it was anything less than life-threatening, the pair of them were more likely to mock each other than they were to offer comfort. Jamie was not pleased with the new change in their dynamic.

Instead of responding to Catherine's remark, Jamie remained fixated on the house in front of them, slowly raising the soda cup to her mouth and taking a long, loud slurp of the remaining dregs of soda. Prising the straw out of the cup and giving it a curious few shakes, the few unmelted blocks of ice bouncing lazily off the paper, she tossed it through the window of the SUV, landing noisily on the floor, merging with the other leftover takeout containers strewn across the floor. She leaned through the passenger side window and re-emerged with another large soda cup.

Catherine stared at her sister in bemused disbelief. "Seriously, did you stock up or something?!"

Jamie remained silent, a small smile tugging on the corner of her lips. She took a sip from her new cup with the same preciseness as she had done before.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "You're a ridiculous human being," she sniffed, turning her head towards the two people sitting on Jenny's front doorstep. Missouri had that look of fond-concern that seemed almost permanently plastered to her face, and Sam looked disturbed. Not at all like they were celebrating a job well done. Catherine frowned. Jamie and Catherine's usual celebration style was to get ridiculously drunk and egg each other on to do something stupid, concluding with them stumbling home drunkenly and waking Missouri up. It was a much loved tradition, albeit probably not for Missouri, but a tradition that Catherine looked forward to immensely. She wasn't entirely sure when (or _if_) Sam and Dean were leaving, but Sam looked like he was in need of a good celebration. Though it was usually something Catherine enjoyed doing with just her sister alone, she was willing to let the Winchester boys in on her tradition.

"You still up for later?" Catherine asked, somewhat redundantly. She doubted Jamie would turn down a night out even if she had almost been killed.

Jamie lowered the sunglasses down to her nose, her brilliant emerald eyes sparkling in the twinkling sunshine, and she grinned. The smirk looked a little different accompanied with cuts and scrapes, but it did add an even more rogue-ish air to her. "If you even try to pansy out on me, you're going to have to drink double."

Catherine scowled playfully. "Since when have I pansied out on you?"

"Never. But I thought with all this sudden _care _we had going on, you'd give it a go."

"You said the word 'care' like it was 'disease'."

"And I truly meant it, from the heart."

Catherine shook her head, grinning happily. "I would say that poltergeist knocked a few more screws loose, but I think he just got the last few loose ones."

"Ha, ha, a crazy joke, you're terribly original, sis."

Catherine elbowed her in the ribs, making sure to keep her jab gentle. Jamie cackled delightedly and then, as quickly as she had begun laughing, she stopped, a serious look in her otherwise smirking gaze. "So the fact that you're physically attacking me again hopefully means you've stopped this affectionate nonsense?"

Translation: _are you okay_?

Catherine smiled brightly, warmly. "Well, now that I know that even visions can't stop you, I guess it's safe for me to start beating you up again," she said playfully. And then she frowned. "So long as you're okay?"

Jamie didn't answer for a second. Her attention travelled to Missouri, still sitting with Sam. Catherine wasn't used to seeing her sister look so gravely serious, and it made her feel uneasy.

"I've been thinking," Jamie started quietly. "About what Sam and Dean do. Moving across the country, seeking out people to help rather than just sitting here waiting for people in trouble to find us…" she shook her head, her forehead furrowed in angry confusion. "I've been thinking if we should do the same thing. I mean, we'd be so much more helpful, we could help so many more people…" She paused.

"But?"

"But," Jamie sighed, her shoulders sagging. "Leave Missouri here, with no protection, no _us_? The thought of it makes me sick, Cat, it really does."

Catherine frowned thoughtfully. She'd had the same thoughts, the same ideas of exploring more of the country than just Lawrence, but abandoning Missouri to any evil force than might come randomly a'calling was so unthinkable.

She sighed too. "We'll have to call a family meeting."

"It'll probably be a short one. She probably knows what we're asking her to talk about already."

"She can probably hear us right now."

"She might even give us a thumbs up or something."

The pair of them looked over at their foster mother, half expecting her to be giving them that exasperated look of affection she managed so well. She was still talking to Sam, their heads nearly touching as they talked.

"She's probably made her decision already."

"Packed our bags already."

"Made us sandwiches for the trip."

The pair of them were still giggling when Missouri and Sam stood up. Sam's eyes met Jamie's and her heart stuttered in her chest a little.

_He's so cute_.

The thought sighed out of nowhere, the inner teenage girl that Jamie had attempted to repress for so long. She gritted her teeth and groaned internally. _Is he dreamy_? she asked herself mockingly.

_And now I'm talking to myself. Inner dialogue, shut the fuck up_.

She turned to speak to Catherine, but her sister had moved, walked forwards to talk to Missouri. And Sam was still heading her way.

_He knows about us_.

This thought definitely wasn't the one of a teenage girl. This was the growl of a warrior, preparing to defend themselves. She felt herself tense all over, like he was going to pull out a knife and chop her head off in broad daylight just for discovering she wasn't as all around human as she should be.

"Hey," he said softly, sticking his hands awkwardly in his pockets as he approached her. His thick mop of brown hair drooped into his eyes and he had to keep flicking his head to the side to sway the brown curls out of his eyes. Jamie removed her sunglasses, forcing herself to keep a straight face and stand with her arms firmly crossed across her chest; all the while, the teenage girl inside her was aching to mirror his pose, stuffing her hands in her pockets, while biting her lower lip.

_Well, I disgust myself now. _

"You okay?" he asked, staring anxiously at her injuries.

"I've seen worse," she shrugged, flexing her hands to keep herself from fidgeting. "And it could've been worse if you hadn't had that vision, so… thanks."

"No problem," he nodded, smiling a little. "And, hey, about before… when we were in the car, I didn't mean to offend you, and I definitely didn't mean to listen in on a private conversation, I'm really sorry."

Jamie observed him carefully for a moment. The urge to tell someone about them, about what they were, was suddenly overpowering. The thought of telling Sam was especially appealing – not only was he a friend (and a trusted friend at that – just one look at his face told her this was not a man who gave away such important secrets so easily) but he was also kind of like them. He was more human than they were, true, but he was still a little bit something-else too.

At the same time, the little voice in the back of her head, the one screaming at her to remember what she had drilled into herself for so many years (_don't tell ANYBODY_) was screaming again now.

She couldn't. Not now anyway.

"Sam," she began, dropping her gaze to her feet. Sam was silently amazed. This was the first time, since they'd met, that she'd given some sort of sense that she was anything less than in complete control of the situation. "I don't hold it against you. And some day, I'll explain," she paused and raised her head again defiantly. "But I can't now. Protecting my family and all that noise," she managed a weak laugh, hoping to make him smile.

She succeeded; he returned her grin easily, a little perked up at the mention of 'some day', that she planned to know him longer than just today.

"I can wait," he said softly, so softly that she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. But she couldn't get the words out to ask him – their eyes met and all she could think about was kissing him, kissing him right there and then in front of Mama-Missouri, and Catherine, and Dean, and Jenny's house, and how good a kisser he would be with lips like those.

"You kids ready?"

Mama's voice knocked Jamie back into herself with a jolt. She felt shaky, like she was running on adrenaline and adrenaline alone. She snuck a glance at Sam as she turned around.

His face looked as electrified as hers must have.


	16. Chapter 16

_So this is the final chapter in this story, and I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO FINISHING IT. I'm terrible with this sort of stuff, I am the single most easily-distracted person alive. And I apologise for that. _

_Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/enjoyed my story; it was my first and now I've ACTUALLY FINISHED IT, I'm so pleased with how it turned out. Of course, being the perfectionist that I am, I might need to change it a little at some point, but I'm very happy with it now. :) :)_

_Enjoy the last chapter and I will be along with some more Supernatural related goodness as soon as inspiration strikes! :)_

"So, are you gunna tell me what's botherin' you, or am I going to have to pull it out of your head?"

Jamie looked up from the bowl of cheese she'd been grating intensely for the last five, silent minutes, a rueful smile on her beautiful face as she looked at her mother; Mama was prodding furiously at a saucepan of bubbling spaghetti, occasionally cursing to herself under her breath whenever the water bubbled over the top of the pan. Jamie had been dutifully assigned the role of cheese-grater and she was thankful. She knew Mama would never be as stupid as to place her in charge of actual _cooking_: the last time that had happened, the floor had been treated to more food than they had, the kitchen window had been in drastic need of repairing and they had been unable to recover all the pieces of the frying pan that had so rudely assaulted the window.

She also knew there was an underlying reason why she'd been given this job while Sam had been given the task of setting the table, everything from cutlery to the ornaments that would decorate their meal-time environment, and Catherine and Dean had been allowed to browse through Missouri's private wine collection, a job that Catherine had seized gleefully with both hands, despite preferring harder liquor to wine – Mama had given them strict warnings as teenagers not to touch her private wine rack or, and Jamie remembered this part vividly, 'I'll slap you so hard Elvis will go back into the building'. Jamie had taken to using that herself from time to time.

Jamie tossed her long, mahogany hair over her shoulder and shot her mother a wicked grin that made her look even more cheerfully mischievous than she already did. "Why, Mama, it's almost like you're psychic."

The look Missouri shot her then made Jamie cackle loudly, moving the cheese rhythmically against the grater again. "You think I made you stay in here because you grate good cheese?"

"Actually, I thought you'd picked me to help in here because of my delightful personality."

"Well, actually, it's 'coz I needed a good dose of _smartass _to make the cooking go quicker," Missouri said dryly, adjusting the heat on the stove underneath the saucepan. The fire roared responsively.

"You know just how healthy a dose of smartass a day is."

"About as good for you as cancer." Missouri sighed and turned the stove off, turning to face her daughter. As Jamie turned slowly to face her, one scratched hand still clutching the block of pale yellow cheese, Missouri felt her heart tug. Missouri Moseley was not a woman prone to crying a lot, but she could feel it now, creeping up into her eyes, stinging fiercely. She looked at her daughter's face – at her beautiful, familiar face, her enormous green eyes, her thick locks of red hair – and a million memories hit her at once. Brushing out that mahogany hair, running the strands delicately beneath her thick fingers; scowling disapprovingly when Jamie had run up to her, face all lit up like it was Christmas morning, showing off a bruise the size of a tangerine on her skinny thigh; rolling her big green eyes and then shooting her that impish grin that made Missouri want to laugh even when she was trying to punish her. And the injuries, the cuts and the bruises, the broken bones, the blood. She saw those too, and her heart tightened even more, to the point when she couldn't breathe. _How am I supposed to let her go, out there, into that_?

A small voice in the back of her head piped up, timidly: _you could ask them to stay. You know they'd never leave if you asked them to stay with you._

The thought was so tempting, so deliciously tempting that the words were in Missouri's throat, climbing their way up into her mouth. The power to keep them with her, to keep them safe, keep them hidden.

And then another thought hit her, speaking in a voice she hadn't heard in a long time.

_Missouri Moseley, don't you be selfish. You've had your time with them. Don't you keep them away from the world when they could make it a better place_.

It was hard to argue with that.

"I think it's time I stopped being so selfish," Missouri said, meeting her daughter's eye with a calmness that she didn't feel inside. Inside, it felt like she was telling that little girl she'd met all those years ago, that little girl who was trying to be so brave after her mama had run out on her, that she didn't want her any more. _I will never stop wanting you, sweetheart, I will never ever want to leave you_. "It's not right, keeping you cooped up here, making you drive all that way to go and help these poor folk, making you slog halfway around the country and back again for me. Girls as special as you, you could do so much more for so many people. Help them as much as you've helped me."

Jamie was biting her lip, tears glistening in her eyes. Missouri had expected it, but it didn't hurt any less, seeing her daughter cry like that. Her big, strong daughter. _Her _daughter.

When Jamie finally spoke, having cleared her throat a few times to get the words out, her usually husky voice was hoarse, like a smoker's. She was slowly and unknowingly pulverising the cheese beneath her fingers. "But, Mama-"

"Don't you be worrying about me," Missouri said sternly. "I managed perfectly fine before you came along, and I think I can do perfectly fine while you're away, thank you. I ain't lost it yet," she added, giving Jamie a quick wink. Jamie laughed breathlessly, trying to recover the same sort of ease she'd felt a few moments ago, when they'd simply been joking like always. _If I leave, I leave all that. I leave her._

"Yeah, but Mama… you're old now."

Missouri huffed loudly and, picking the wooden spoon out of the quickly cooling saucepan, swatted lightly at Jamie; she danced out of the way with a giggle, but there was a frown above her eyes, and Missouri saw the concern there. If necessary, could she defend herself?

"I'm not old enough that I can't teach you a thing or two, child. Besides; someone's foolish enough to try to take me, I'll see 'em planning it before they even know my name."

This thought seemed to warm Jamie up; the spark in her eyes shone a little brighter. "And, whenever you get the psychic tingle, you get out of dodge and you call us? And the big strong women will come and save you," she grinned, straightening her back and flexing her lean arms. Missouri looked at her, took her all in, and was one-hundred percent certain that Jamie and Catherine would come and save her, no matter what situation she or they were in at the time.

_They will always come back. Always_.

Missouri nodded at Jamie and this was her blessing. _You can go. I'll be fine_.

No more words needed to be spoken.

Tears blurred up Jamie's vision again, but she ignored it, instead turning back to her bowl of cheese and continuing to grate at a normal pace. Missouri did the same, turning the stove back on and swirling the pasta around in the saucepan.

It was a moment before Jamie glanced over her shoulder and smirked again. "Who are you going to take out all your anger issues on now?"

"Well… the paper boy don't run so fast…"

"Aw, he'll be no fun! As soon as you tell him not to curse, he'll _actually stop cursing_."

"Just imagine it," Missouri said with a pointed look at Jamie. "Somebody who actually does what I tell 'em to do for a change."

"His spirit will be much too easy to break, that's no challenge."

"I'm more concerned with who'll be reigning you in. Way you are, you'll be uncontrollable."

"Like a glorious, drunken hurricane," Jamie said dreamily.

"You keep talking like that, you'll be stuck in my basement until you're fifty."

"Don't worry, Mama; we'll take care of her."

Jamie and Missouri looked up, to see Catherine and the Winchesters looming in the small archway connecting the kitchen to the hallway. Sam was standing a little behind the others, outside of the arch; he was so tall, he'd quickly have neck-cramp from having to stoop over. Dean was leaning against the doorframe, smiling in that self-assured way of his. He'd been quiet when they'd come out of Jenny's house for the last time, and Jamie couldn't blame him; he had just seen his dead mother's spirit right in front of him, only to vanish when she tore apart herself to kill the poltergeist. But he seemed better now, back to the Dean she'd been introduced to. She liked that Dean. Cocky Dean was easier to banter with than Sad Dean. Poking at Sad Dean was just mean.

"Just saying, if you put your feet all over my car, you're walking," Dean said simply, not trace of humour behind his warm eyes.

"Do I get shotgun privileges?"

Dean said yes at the precise moment Catherine replied with a 'no' of derision. The pair of them eyed each other suspiciously for a moment and Jamie had to smile.

"Do I get music privileges?"

"You may choose from a pre-approved selection of cassettes."

Catherine held up her hands to stop him talking. "Hold up; _cassettes_?"

Dean stared uncomprehendingly back at her. "What's your point?"

"You have cassettes? As in, like, nineties cassettes?"

"Cassettes are _classic_."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "What part of the nineties were _classic_ to you?"

Dean gave her a sweet smile. "The part that I have on cassette tape."

Sam rolled his eyes as Catherine continued her incredulous chant of "Cassettes? Honest-to-God _cassettes_?" and, when Jamie met his eyes, he gave her a warm smile that made the inner teenager in her swoon. She had to stop herself from physically groaning out loud. _I swear to God, if I starting fucking __**swooning**__, I am just going to bludgeon myself to death with Dean's cassette tapes._

Missouri Moseley watched the scene before her with apprehensive happiness; at Dean and Catherine's quickly livening debate, at the timid exchange of smiles between Sam Winchester and Jamie (_timid _and _Jamie _were two words Missouri would never ever again use in the same sentence), and she felt hope. If anybody could keep her girls alive – and happy – it was the Winchesters. She thought of John now, waiting nearby for them to leave, to grill her on his boys instead of simply coming in and just _talking _to them, and she cursed him again. _Goddamn you, John Winchester, you stupid bastard. You should be here for this._

Parental duty did require her to say one thing about them leaving, aside from the obvious affectionate farewells that she didn't want to think about _just _yet: "So help me, boys, if you get one of my daughters pregnant, I best be seeing a damn marriage license within two seconds of conception or else I will slap you so hard Michael Jackson'll turn black again."

That had stopped the meaningful eye contact right quick.


End file.
